I’m swimming in sinful waters.

The Puppeteer came before everything in this wretched Universe, bored and lonely he created himself a lover, someone made from the stars above. 

Then he created The Nine, and the Universe came into existence. It was small at first, larger with every new puppet made. 

But there was only ONE true Puppet, his darling, his toy, his everything.

The first of The Nine to appear was Time, made from his sweethearts torso. Of course, being W̯ͤ̾ͣ͝Hͥ̽ͣ̃̔A̷͙ͭͫ̕T̨͈͗̌ͥ T̨͈͗̌ͥHͥ̽ͣ̃̔Ḛͭ̉̇͟Ỵ̛̖͋͢ A̷͙ͭͫ̕R͉̜̎͡͠Ḛͭ̉̇͟, they simply regenerated.

Due to this, Time’s stomach was made from an hourglass. Rumor has it, when it runs out of black sand, either Time will die or the Puppeteer and Puppet will, meaning Pollylon will die with them.

Her chest is made out of the sand that seeps from cracks in the hourglass, created by a being known as Arche, angry at her for killing his Firefly.

Then came Universe, made from the Puppeteer’s spine, made to be everything and nothing all at once. 

The Universe doesn't have a physical body but neither do they not exist. The Universe is both everything and nothing, you and me. 

Then Life and Death, Life created from the Puppeteer’s eyes and Death from the Puppet’s ears, making something so strong costed both their senses that they lost in the creation of them.

Life’s eyes are pure white, and constantly see every life born from human to animal to even a plant, now and in the past, even in the future. He is blind, and also all-seeing.

While Death constantly hears the screams, moans, and sobs of the dead, from now and in the past, future as well. She is deaf, but can also hear a pin drop.

Love came next, created from one side of each of the Puppeteer’s and Puppet’s hearts, but something corrupted Love’s existence, and another of The Nine was created as well; Heartbreak. 

Love’s heart is constantly visible, constantly beating, the skin around their chest gone, it is said with every beat of Love’s heart, a couple falls in love. 

Heartbreak doesn't have a heart, and is said to be constantly searching for one in the bodies of the couples they break up, hoping to find one to fix their own missing heart.

Then Sleep and Dream came along, Sleep made from the left hand of the Puppeteer and Dream from the right hand of the Puppet. 

Sleep’s left hand is a baby blue, melting into their skin, constantly cool to the touch and able to make anyone fall asleep with a single touch. 

Dream’s right hand is a deep purple, but it's ever changing. Dream is neither cruel nor benevolent, able to conjure up Nightmares bad enough to terrify Gods and Dreams happy enough to warm even Heartbreak’s missing heart.

The last and youngest of The Nine was Fate, rather then being created from a part of the Puppeteer or Puppet, the Puppeteer wove his existence like thread into clothing, and he was born with golden stitches.

Fate is clueless and naive, unknowing of the strings of Fate he holds in his hands, similar to the ones attached to his back, able to be pulled every which way by the Puppeteer.

For a long time, the Puppeteer and Puppet watch as their creations create more, more and more Gods are created by The Nine, more worlds, it was amusing. 

The Puppeteer often busied himself learning about the new diseases the humans find, or about the durability and general stuff about humans. They were so interesting...

But very soon, living in the galaxy grew boring. Even if the Puppeteer had his Puppet, they already know everything about each other, have done everything together. 

“Darlingggg...I'm growing bored..” Puppet whined, and Puppeteer sighed, pushing the violet hair out of his lover’s face. 

“I know, pup. Don't worry, we'll think of something.” Puppeteer signed to his lover, kissing Puppet’s forehead. 

They need something new. So, the two draw a character, adding attributes they found attractive. They wouldn't have emotions or a personality at first, but they'd grow their own soon enough. 

It was a bit of trial and error, especially since the Puppet had liked the idea of the new person being made out of porcelain, like a doll. After all, he's a puppet, so why not have a doll too? 

Eventually, YOU came to appear. 

—

Your eyes flutter open, the world around you freezing cold, the air nipping at your already freezing cold skin. 

You can feel heat radiating off something out side the room, but your mind, without any knowledge of what was going on, only knew to follow the heat.

Unsteady, like a doe on ice, you stand from the bed you were on, immediately grabbing onto a wall for support. 

Your eyes scanned the room with precision, the walls were black, and it smelled strange, but even the candles lit in the room couldn't hide the smell of death and rot.

Steadying yourself, using the wall for support you walk out of the room, looking for that warmth— That you step right into. 

“What—? Pup, is that you?” The voice is curious, and slightly hoarse. Maybe he doesn't speak often. You look up, only to find cloudy eyes staring into nothingness. 

You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a pitiful whine. That seems to clue the person in, who's eyes widen slightly. 

“It's you! I thought you were another failure, I suppose not!” Their voice is cheery now, arms instantly wrapping around your body, as if they're trying to squeeze the magic out of you, yet they're also gentle. 

Unknowing of what to do, you simply melt into them, glad for their warmth. As fast as the warmth came, cold followed after. 

“Darling? Is-Is that them?” The new person, who seems freezing cold, if the air around them is anything, asks with a tremble in their voice, the warm person immediately nods, their head turned towards the colder one. 

“It is.” The warm one signed, which it's weird you can understand, but that might be because of the magic they left inside you. 

The warm person unravels themselves from you, and you whine at the loss making the corners of their lips tug up. 

“Apologies, dolly. But we should introduce ourselves, shouldn't we, Pup?” The warm one speaks while also signing towards “Pup”, who nods, walking closer to the warmth, curling around them like a python. 

“Mhm, I guess we should. I'm Puppet, though my darling and you can call me Pup.” Pup speaks, smiling at you. 

“And I'm the Puppeteer, although some seem to call me A̷͙ͭͫ̕R͉̜̎͡͠L̸̖̽̌͂Ḛͭ̉̇͟Q̦̭̀̾͜U̠҉̷̙ͦI̍̅̀̎̊N̺̻̔̆ͅ for some reason...Either is fine for you and Pup to call me, however!” Puppeteer smiles, which only leaves you without a name. 

But neither seem concerned, and instead guide you to the dining room, but the castle you're in...it seems almost...alive. Doors open on their own, books rearranging themselves, rags cleaning the castle. 

You're quickly sat down, Pup on your left and Puppeteer on your right. There's all different types of food on the table, some more enticing then others. 

“Dolly, see anything you like?” Pup asks, and you shrug. I mean, sure some of it looks good, but it's just food. Pup pouts, and grabs a fork, picking up some spaghetti and spoon feeding it to you. 

They practically spoon feed you the entire time, talking and chatting with each other while you listen, before guiding you to their bedroom, where the two sleep together, while you watch curiously. 

That morning, by the time they're awake you've been up all night, watching. 

“Mm, Dolly, did you stay up all night?” Pup yawns, rubbing his eyes as he looks at you. You nod, and Puppeteer frowns. 

“You shouldn't do that.” Puppeteer says, and you tilt your head like a curious puppy, and he points at your chest. “You're not human, of course, but look.”

Puppeteer walks over, taking off the shirt you had been given by Pup, and opens the plate on your chest. 

You glance down curiously, and freeze. In the middle is a two red hearts, beating quietly, stitched together to create one, with strings from each of your limbs, so you can move. 

“You may not die from lack of sleep, but you will grow lethargic. I'd prefer you happy and awake, alright, dolly?” Puppeteer looks up with a look in his eye that leaves no room for discussion, as if it wasn't a question. You nod, somewhat worried of what would happen if you disagreed. 

Very quickly Puppeteer begins teaching you how to speak while Pup teaches you how to write, the two are amazing teachers and with how you were created, you easily learn everything. 

Even though you're still without a personality, soon you'll make one your self, and realize something.

Every time. Every time. It's not fair. Why must the Gods curse him so?

You were his in every Universe, every life time. Yet you died so young. So pathetically every time. Once it was a disease, the next was suicide, and the last one was murder.

Of course, everyone who HARMS and FAILS YOU dies in every Universe. They don't deserve to survive. They don't deserve to live.

Just once, just once he wants to hold your hand as the two of you grow old. Or bring you along on his travels of the Multiverse. 

Arche sighed as he walked across the Universe, planets and different Universe’s surrounding his body.

Arche wasn't a God but neither was he Mortal. He lost the ability to die to Death a long, long time ago. So now he walks the Multiverse’s to spite the Gods who kill his lover every time.

The Gods do this as a punishment for cheating Death, perhaps. But they dare not actually try and get close to Arche. If they do, they will live a Fate worse then Death herself. 

When he's not pretending to be human, his skin is covered in blues, purples, and pinks like the galaxy itself, his eyes, one black one white. Black always forced to watch your Death, the white watching every new Life. 

Arche walks to the next Universe, wincing at how horrible it seems. Another war Universe? Alright. He always hates these ones. You almost always die in his arms. 

Arche steels himself, all six arms wrapping around the Universe as he leaves his body, his subconscious melding with the world.

Arche’s eyes flutter open, taking the form of a child, barely 7 years of age. His “parents” tell him to go to his hiding spot, and he does. 

Arche hides as he hears gun shots, screams, begging. He fiddles with the ends of his sleeves, curling into himself in the small hide of his. 

People run into the house, searching for resources and other survivors. 

A hologram laptop pops up in front of Arche, telling him everything he'd need to know about the Universe he's currently in. 

This Universe was created by Death, to get more souls...Everyone will die in twenty-six years due to a bomb...Alright, so he's got twenty-six years to find YOU, to get into a relationship with you, and hopefully confess to you what he is. 

And then help you become one too. 

Arche waits, freezing as someone opens the door. “Hey! I found....a kid?” The person pauses, and another adult walks over, frowning as they realize what they just did. 

“Fuck. We just orphaned a child.” The adult with brown hair curses, while the blonde smacks them away with a roll of their eyes. 

“Hey, little one. I'm Georgia, she/her, what's your name?” The woman asks, kneeling down as she smiles gently. Arche crawls further back, whimpering. 

“...Ar-Arche. He/him. Wh-Why’d you kill them...?” Georgia pauses, and sighs. She glances away, biting her lip. 

She's pretty, he's got to admit. Blonde hair that reaches her navel, a mole under her eye, green eyes that seem far too kind for a war. She's going to die young. 

The other adult interrupts. “That's just how life is right now, kid. You kill or be killed—” Georgia slaps him, and the two bicker for a few moments before Georgia sighs. 

“That’s Wyatt, my husband. He's...a bit blunt, isn't he?” Georgia snorts. Arche slowly crawls out after a ton of coaxing, and can finally fully look at Wyatt. 

He's got brown, curly hair that's rather long, in a ponytail. He's got brown eyes and tan skin, and a permanent glare on his face. He's got a huge scar over his nose. 

But, he notices something. No, someone. YOU. You're just a kid, maybe a year older or two, hiding behind Wyatt, glancing at him quietly. 

Wyatt glances between Arche and you, before Georgia pulls him away, as they go and talk in a corner, whisper yelling at each other

You're curious but cautious, glancing at him, or well, glaring. You look so pretty, even as a kid. 

The two sit in silence while the adults yell at each other, as it gets more intense. Arche frowns, and goes to cover his ears. 

But then, you pull him to your chest, covering his ears. He freezes, and you look away from the scene and him. 

“I’m sorry about them. They're stressed.” You murmur, and hours pass before the yelling stops. 

The two walk over, and Georgia smiles at the sight of the two of them huddled together, asleep. Wyatt snorts, picking up Arche, and Georgia picks up you. 

The two walk out, going to their hide out. Arche’s not asleep. He rarely is. 

Years pass and memories are made. Days where the good and bad happen.

Georgia dies first. Arche can remember your screams, and Wyatt and him having to pull you away. 

Wyatt died a few months later, leaving fourteen, almost fifteen, year old Arche and sixteen year old you alone. You quickly became a good caretaker for him, making sure he never got harmed. 

The day of your eighteenth birthday he confessed, and although at first nervous, you agreed. The years passed and days got better, brighter because he was around. 

Arche was stupid. He thought he had more time. Maybe this was the one. He ignored every warning, despite it having been twenty-six years. 

Foolish. A fool in Love is what Arche is. He defies Gods for you every day, and yet you can't even stay alive for him. 

It's the day of his 33rd birthday. He doesn't think anything of it. Nothings wrong, you're smiling and happy. Thats all he cares about. 

Then the fires start, he tries to get you out, go somewhere else. By the time the bomb drops, he realizes he's messed up once more. 

You're dying. In his arms once more. Arche curses every God he can think of, sobbing into your chest as your burned fingers glide through his hair. 

“'m sorry, 'm sorry- It's all my fault. I should've realized.” Arche sobs into your chest, the soft smile he so desperately wishes wasn't on your dying face directed at him. 

He feels the flames burn his human vessel as he protects your body with his own, and he screams from the pain. 

You're tears are like acid against his skin, he loves seeing you smile. But not like this. Then you mutter something against his skin that makes him freeze. 

“Do...Do you think we're together in every life, my moth?” The words are quiet, barely a whisper amongst the flames. And he can't help but nod. 

You ask this every time you die. Every time he can't help but remember every death before this. And think of every one after it, too.

“Of course we are, firefly. Till Death do us part like she always shall, and we find each other in the next life. I'll always be drawn to your light, like a moth to a flame.” Arche can feel you smile against his skin, as the flames finally take both of your lives. 

When he comes to, arms unwrapped around the Universe, he makes a promise. 

“I'll find a life we both shall live peacefully, Firefly. No matter what it takes. No matter who's blood I shall spill.” Arche promises, floating away to the next Universe as another death is stored in his memory. 

—

“And that's the story of Arche and his Firefly.”  The historian, named after the “story”of Arche finishes, smiling while holding his lovers hand at the children surrounding the two. 

One of them raised their hand, and he nods as a response. “Are you named after the story, Mr. Arche?” The child asks with wonder in their eyes. 

Arche chuckles, nodding along. “I am. Me and my very own Firefly will always be together. No matter what the Gods have to say, or Universe.” Arche brings a finger to their lip, winking at the child. 

The children laugh, and move on to the next exhibit. You raise a brow, glancing over at Arche. “Really? You shouldn't be saying that, what if someone finds out, my moth?” You cross your arms over your chest, smiling gently at the exhibit of your history together. 

“Firefly, they're children. I could show my true form and they'd think it was a Dream when they grow up.” Arche waves a hand in dismissal, smirking at you. You roll your eyes, and the two of you turn to your true forms as you leave. 

“Alright, ready for the next one, Firefly? Where should we go, hmm?” Arche pulls you into the painting, and you find yourselves in the galaxy. 

“Oh, I do love the one where you're the prince and I'm the jester, moth.” You smile, and he nods. 

Nova wasn't...normal. Well, to be fair, it wasn't their fault he was created this way. It was Father’s fault.

Being born a Cupid, but being unable to feel most emotions, or even love. How ridiculous. Pathetic, even. Compared to their brothers and sisters, he was useless.

They grew up alone and isolated, no one wanted a Cherub whose expression was always bored. No one wanted a Cherub who never wanted to play with the others or found joy in small things. 

He grew up in one of the few orphanages in Paradise, some human souls for foster parents who weren't able to have kids themselves, happy to have any.

Angels were meant to be cheerful and optimistic, they were neither. Many thought he'd grow up to be a Guardian Angel or an Archangel. 

Never a Cupid. Especially a Love Cupid. Maybe a Heartbreak Cupid, even Erotic Love Cupid, but Love? They didn't even truly understand what the word meant. Or so everyone thought. 

Angels were meant to be non-judgemental. Meant to be “kind” and believe in everyone. Angel’s are not. Angels are just as judgemental, perhaps even more than humans. 

The other Cupids always watched him in disdain when they were training, he always dragged their class down, being worse at it than most of the others.

But then, in high school, something changed. See, Angels and Demons typically don't like each other. 

Angels hate Demons for falling, and Demons hate the lies Angels say. But in the end, they are one and the same. 

Only one’s halo is broken, the other’s is perfectly fine. No, not halo, horns. If there was one thing special about Nova, it was their “halo“, or horns. 

They were a beautiful baby pink color that matched the pearly white hair that reached his shoulders, with pretty gold and bright pink streaks, that made their purple eyes pop. 

Even though Nova couldn't feel anything, he was beautiful. Freckles were made in the forms of constellations scattered over brown skin, and white eyelashes that looked like snowflakes. 

They were beautiful. Ethereal. An Angel, through and through. He never imagined they'd fall willingly, even hating the thought. 

But, maybe for one person, he would. That person is YOU. 

The Demons and Angels made an agreement, there was an academy built, for both Angels and Demons of all ranks and backgrounds, a sort of truce.

Nova was one of the angels chosen, amongst many others. They didn't care about it, just wanting it to be done already. To get the embarrassment over. 

Days turned into weeks of staying in the shadows, going to boring classes, eating lunch in empty classrooms, studying all night, and repeat. 

It was boring, but it's not like Nova had anything he could do about it. Another day of stupid school, of stupid wars between haughty Angels and Demons who liked fighting. 

Except this time, Nova got caught in the crossfire. Cuts covered their skin, golden blood leaking down and ruining his beautiful clothes.

One of the Demons had them pushed up against a wall, claws to his throat, and they stood there blank gaze. Nova raised a brow as the Demon got pushed, and went to walk away. 

Then YOU came. You seemed confused at the fight, trying to make peace despite it being fruitless. You paused at the sight of him, before gasping and quickly running over. 

“Ah, you're bleeding! Gosh, I told these dummies to stop fighting, they just don't listen!” You frowned, trying to appear upset but you just looked like a kicked puppy with a pout. 

You pulled them off to the side, reaching inside a black messenger back absolutely covered in cutesy stickers and pins from different bands. 

Nova took the time to look at you, really look at you. It was strange. Why was his heart beating so fast? Wings fluffing up? You were beautiful. One of the prettiest Demons they’d ever seen. 

That's what clued him into what you were, an Incubus or Succubus. Really, there was no difference between the two except for their behavior. Incubus tended to be more assertive, and Succubus more passive. 

Before Nova could think about anything else, you pulled a first aid kit out, opened it up, and pulled a pack of bandaids out. 

You started disinfecting their wounds, before putting those cute, colored bandaids on each wound.

Nova looks silly like this, mostly black, Gothic ensemble, even with his pastel eyes and horns, they still looked less like an Angel and more like a Demon. 

And there you were, broken halo turned into a pair of horns, dressed in cutesy clothes, putting brightly colored bandaids on the mean-looking Cupid. 

With every fleeting touch, Nova felt embers light under his skin, his cheeks warming even further. ‘...What...What is this feeling? I don't...’

Before Nova even realized it, they were leaning even further into your cold, almost dead touch. You paused, before giggling and roping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Wow! You're super friendly, I like you, your hair too, it's super duper long! What's your name?” You asked, playing with his long hair, curling it around your fingers.

“Casanova. But people call me Nova, usually. What's yours?” Nova looked up at you, a lovesick hazy look in his purple eyes, heart pupils. How amusing. A Cupid falling for an Incubi/Succubi. What are the odds? 

“Oh! Right! It's—” Before you can finish, a teacher begins herding everyone to their classes. Nova’s pissed —‘How...Why do I feel so angry?’— but goes along with it, delighted to see you wave with a sheepish grin, fangs showing. 

Nova doesn't know your name. But he doesn't need to. You're his angel in their mind, the one and only made for him. 

Very quickly you become a prominent part of his life, their parents even allowing you to stay at their house while the program goes on, happy to see their child so happy for once. 

With so many emotions suddenly hitting him all at once, it's no shock they fall harder than he should, becoming obsessed fast and hard. 

Nova begins realizing things they'd never realized before. The curves of your body. Those soft eyes he wants to see sobbing from pleasure. Those lips open, gasping their name—

But it ends far too soon. The program is forced to close, and you're gone just as fast as you came. Nova hates how empty he feels when you're gone, wondering how he ever lived without you.

He feels cold inside, a part of him disappearing with you. Something they can NEVER get back. He tries to be normal, smiling when he should, crying when he should, just be normal. 

It's easy for a while. To pretend. No, BE normal. Far too soon, or maybe far too late, he graduates high school. Then college. 

Years fly by, “friends” come and go, lovers he didn't give a shit about disappear after they get bored, and more and more blood then just his is on their hands. 

But you weren't always gone. You'd sneak out of hell and sneak onto paradise sometimes, and hang out with them. But it wasn't enough. He wanted all of your time and attention on him. Just once, they want someone to be there as a constant. 

Eventually he lands a job at Soulmates Corp. A Cupid work place, and he starts working. It's actually pretty simple and interesting. Sure, they don't use bow and arrows — usually. But being able to look through humans lives, to choose who they fall for. It's interesting. 

And then, one night, you innocently invite him to a club in hell. They instantly agree, after all, it's YOU. His angel, their savior, his LIFE LINE. Their EVERYTHING. 

Funnily enough, over the years the two swapped clothing styles. Nova wore more cutesy, sweet, pastel color clothes, and you wore darker, more “sexy” clothes. 

Nova arrived at the club, absentmindedly toying with the pockets of his pastel blue cardigan. Tonight would be the last night of your freedom - independance, after all! 

Nova walks in, you on his side, some of your friends accompanying the two of you. He could care less about these bastards, and soon makes sure to seperate you from your “friends”.

He watches you with loving eyes the entire night, making sure you get drunk so bad you can't stand. It's easy, you're too trusting. Too innocent for this world. 

He'll save you, just like you saved them! Eventually they take you to their place. At first it's tame. Friendly. 

“N—Novaaahhhh...C’mere, I hic! wanna see yer pretty faceeee...” Your voice is whiny, the alcohol really hitting you hard. Nova coos, walking over. 

They yelp, quite loudly, as you drag them onto the bed, curling into his side. It's innocent. His thoughts should be too. 

But all they can think about is your chest pressed against their arms, how easy it would be to just slip your shirt to the side, and touch. Feel.

He shakes his head, even if you're both drunk, he can't take advantage of you like that. They refuse to taint you, and that pretty little head of yours. 

Stuck in their own thoughts, Nova doesn't even realize you straddle him until it's too late. Your eyes are hazy with lust and alcohol, and he can't help but gulp nervously. 

“Angel, really, you...you need to sleep.” Nova tries to reason with you, but reasoning with a horny, drunk Demon, much less an Incubi or Succubi is like arguing with a wall. 

You whine, lips lazily smashing against his. Nova can't help but melt into it, and they hate how hard they are from just a touch, a single kiss. 

This is wrong. Both of you know this. Yet neither of you can stop it. One kiss turns into two, into three. 

“An-Angel!” Nova gasps out as you nip at his collarbone, their neck already covered in love bites and pretty blue and purple bruises. 

“Mmph..Wan’ more...Need more, Nova...” You growled out, one hand playing with his chest the other curled in their hair. 

More marks. More bites. So many. He looked so pretty like this, a crying mess under their ‘innocent’ friend. 

Still, he held enough restraint to stop you, not wanting to ruin your first times together. But, due to your insistence, they do give you some pleasure~

Nova sits on his knees, you splayed out on their silk sheets, your slick dripping onto the bed as you whined. Hips jerking up to meet his tongue, hands curled around their halo. 

Nova’s tongue swirls against your sex, whining from the taste of your juices against his tongue. It was better then he imagined all those nights, hand playing with their cock, desperate for some relief. 

With every swipe and sucking of his mouth, you get closer and closer to that sweet relief you desperately need. With one last gasp, your eyes roll back and hips buck against Nova’s mouth. 

Nova laps up every bit of your sweet essence, fucking you through your orgasm. He's gentle after you finish, murmuring praises into your ears as they carry you to their bathroom. 

During the bath you end up falling asleep, Nova carries you to bed and the two fall asleep, intangled in each other. 

It's morning. Your eyes flutter open, yawning softly as you groaned. Fuck, that's a horrible headache. You glance around, pausing as you feel a weight beside you. What the...

Your eyes glide to the person laying beside you, and you pause, your cheeks warming. Nova. You're in Nova’s bed. 

Nova, the Cupid boy you met as a kid. Nova, the Cupid you fell for, hard. Nova, the Cupid who always seemed so clueless and innocent. 

And they truly look like an Angel right now. The sun shines against against his white hair and skin beautifully, wings folded behind them. 

Your face feels even warmer as embarrassment fills you as you see bite marks all over their neck. Bite’s are how Demon’s mark their claim, usually on their mates. Angel’s too. 

He let you bite them. And yet, you can't find yourself to be mad over it. Nova’s eyes flutter open, glancing up at you. A soft smile appears on their face, as they lean up and kiss you. 

The Angel traps you in his wings and you giggle, curling into them. He's yours, and your his even if you don't know yet. 

Ezra Martinez. He was a student council member, and a smart one at that. He never abused his abilities, nor was he cocky.

He was actually pretty, humble, quiet, and only used his abilities when absolutely needed. Ezra didn't speak unless he wanted to or needed to.

Little did anyone know, he had a secret. He could read people's minds. It wasn't 24/7 or he's sure he would've gone insane by now, but he has to be concentrated for it to work.

The first time you and Ezra met, it was due to a group project. You had lower grades while he had perfect grades, so the teacher paired you up.

You seemed distracted from the moment you two met. Or, more like the moment your eyes landed on him.

He was confused, but didn't question it.

“Hey—Hey! Are you even listening to me?” Ezra frowned at you, realizing that, no, you obviously weren't when you tilted your head in confusion.

Ezra sighs, and asks the question once again. “Can I come over to your house for the project? I'd prefer it to my house.”

You seemed to talk even less then Ezra, only responding with a nod, grabbing your backpack and walking off with the council member following you.

He didn't really use his secret ability for no reason, but he really wanted to understand and know what was going on in that pretty head of yours.

The entire way to your house, you had your headphones on and were ignoring him, although he doesn't think it was on purpose.

You even almost got ran over, had he not yanked you back as the car sped past the two of you.

“What are you thinking?! You almost just got yourself killed!” And...there you go again, nodding, before glancing up and walking across the street with that dazed look.

Once at your house, you fiddled with your keys and opened it. Ezra glanced at the driveway, noticing no cars.

Did you live with your parents? Did you live alone? If so, then why? Many questions filled his head, and he decided on one.

“Are your parents home?” Ezra questions with a tilt of his head, you actually glance over at him. You shake your head once again, before pausing, and opening your mouth.

“No. Live alone.” You don't offer any more information up, but you don't need to. Your voice alone sends pleasured chills down his spine, and he nods, glancing away with flushed cheeks.

You seem to watch him as the two of you walk inside, as if observing him closely like he's a newly found animal and your the scientist.

The two set their bags and such down in your room, and pull out what they'll need.

An hour passes, and the entire time, you're either in a daze or observing Ezra. It's slightly unsettling when he glances up and sees you staring at him, but he...doesn't mind. Not if it's you.

Another hour passes. You've written about four words, while Ezra's already finished most of the assignment. He frowns, glancing at the words you had wrote absentmindedly.

“he looks so pretty.”

His eyebrows furrow, and he sucks in a breath, shaking his head as he glances up at you.

Eventually, Ezra stands up, stating that he'll be going home and he'll be back tomorrow. You don't even so much as acknowledge him as he leaves.

The next day at school is like every other day, you're not paying attention, instead glancing outside the window in that hazy state of yours.

Ezra’s nails scratch against his table, and he concentrates on using his ability. The first things he hears makes his blood churn.

“god, I should've killed that blonde bitch who hangs around Ezra all the time. I should've stabbed my pencil into that pretty little throat of hers, forcing her to choke on her own blood. Red is her favorite color, after all.”

Despite the gruesome words, and despite his best efforts, Ezra feels himself flush at your thoughts, his breath getting heavier.

You avert your gaze from the window, eyes tracing the class, your mind muttering things like “bastard” “liar” “bully” “slut” the entire time, til your eyes land on him.

The first thing that comes to your mind is unnerving, and slightly terrifying.

“I wonder how Ezra’d react if I slammed his pretty little head into his desk. Ezra would look so pretty with blood pouring from his head. Blood is definitely something I want to see on him...”

There's a certain emotion in your eyes that Ezra can't quite place. But he thinks he understands when he hears your next thoughts.

He understands far better then any therapist ever would, he understands the word far better then any assignment. Because he feels the same way.

Dakota was tired of the plain white walls, the doors with locks from the outside only, and the constant surveillance and prying eyes of the place he grew to see as his “home” because of his very frequent visits.

He constantly went to the mental institution, leaving for only a few days before coming back.

Younger kids and visitors looked up to him, and he enjoyed their company, despite not understanding why they did. He let them touch his scars and braid his hair. He was an excellent role model, despite it all.

Dakota found the schedule of getting up, getting vitals checked, going to breakfast, doing group therapy and so on annoying, as anyone would.

Some days, he lays in bed — till a security guard comes and drags him out — wondering, “how the hell is this boring, horrible, stuffy place supposed to fix people?”

He never understood. And he doubted that he ever would. Till you came. Then, it seemed, like all his old problems solved themselves and fresh problems arose. [including the one in his pants.]

He's been through multiple therapists, older and younger, brand new and those who've been here for years. None can help him. Instead, he just lies till he's released. And then comes back within days. [always having to be restrained by multiple cops, coming back kicking and screaming that he's going to kill himself and everyone else.]

However, as soon as he saw you, his day brightened immediately. Other staff members were reasonably shocked that the gloomy, mean, depressed, easily upset, violent Dakota seemed...happy for once.

Except, you're not his therapist. He's pissed. Of course he is, you're the first person he's ever liked in this stupid fucking place! [don't mention the fact the two of you haven't even met.]

With a little asking [blackmailing.] around, he learns who's your patient. His name being Quinn, it's around 3 pm, around the time where everyone's free to do whatever, and just before therapy starts. Perfect!

He walks up to the guy who's your patient, swiping a pencil off the kids' table. [none of which protest, knowing by now that it's best they don't.]

Dakota taps Quinn on the shoulder, making the shorter guy turn around, his mouth open to say something, before a sharp scream escapes instead.

Dakota has a crooked grin on his face as he forces the pencil further into the guys eye socket, yanking it out as Quinn drops to the floor, and he stabs the — now broken — pencil into his throat, just a couple inches from his artery.

Quinn chokes on his own blood, while security guards force Dakota off the smaller boy, forcing him to solitary confinement. Dakota laughs as they pull him away, while nurses do their best to keep Quinn alive.

“Stupid fucking homicidal maniac.” One guard growls as they shove Dakota into his cell, while Dakota grins the entire time, uncaring of what the others say.

A couple hours pass, and Dakota once again grows bored and weary of the bleak walls, the uncomfortable bed, and the never-ending silence.

Eventually, the door opens. He's laying on his bed, looking up at the plain white, boring ceiling. He doesn't cast a look at the intruder, and couldn't care less who they are.

“Your name's Dakota, right?” Dakota flinches at the sound of your voice. His head snaps over towards you, where you stand in the doorway, and he can see one of the guards watching carefully.

You step further into the room, accessing the room with a frown. You seem to be just as upset as Dakota with the way the room looks.

“I saw what you did to Quinn — my patient —, and I asked if I could become your therapist instead. They agreed, of course. Which is why I’m here.” Dakota’s distracted by just how sweet you sound, and the kind smile on your face despite it all.

He has a hard time wrapping his head around it. You saw him attempt to kill someone, and yet, you're being kind to him? It doesn't make sense. You don't make sense.

You sit down opposite of him on the bed, and begin asking the normal questions. Instead of lying like he normally would, he actually tells the truth. It shocks both you and him.

“What do you go by?” “He/him.”

“Why are you here currently?” “I tried to kill myself and a friend.”

“Do you feel regret for what you did?” “No.”

The questioning goes on for hours, and the two of you talk for hours, far longer then your supposed to. Therapy ended a long time ago.

No, now it's more like a chat between you two, the way you two connect is like two pieces of a puzzle.

You glance up at the clock, eyes widening when you notice the time. You apologize for having to leave so abruptly, and Dakota frowns in response.

[silly, silly you, thinking you could leave him so easily? as if.]

Dakota grabs your hand, tearing up as you glance down at him. “Ple-Please, don't leave, I—I...I’m afraid of being alone...pl-please...” He closes his eyes, swallowing thickly.

You pause, taking pity on him as you sigh, nodding as you sit down on the creaky bed once again.

He lays his head on your chest, making you tense up as you slowly put your arm around his shoulders.

“Y’know, we really shouldn't be doing this. Isn't this going against some law?” You mumble against his ear, and he shrugs.

“I—I don't know...Y-You don't have to stay.” Dakota’s voice trembles, tears sliding down his cheeks as he squeezes his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You bite your lip, glancing at the door, he was right. You could leave. But your job is to make him better, leaving him would only make it worse...right? You shake your head.

“No, it's fine, I’ll stay. But I have to leave early in the morning, kay, Dakota?” You glance down at him, your eyes meeting bright green ones. He nods, smiling against your skin.

“That’s okay! Just, don't leave yet, please?” You nod once again, and the two of you talk while you slowly nod off. Eventually you lay down, him still laying against your chest.

You fall asleep with the red haired boy laying on your chest, a sick, crooked grin on his face. He moves out of your grip, straddling your hips.

He plays with your hair as he watches you sleep, oh so peacefully, by the side of an attempted murderer. It's almost insane how you fell asleep, knowing he was by your side and you two were alone.

He leans down, his chapped and bloody lips meeting yours, it's delicate, barely even a kiss.

He giggles giddily, pulling out your phone and rolling to your side, head on your chest and phone in hand as he goes through it.

He deletes anyone in your contacts who may threaten your relationship, takes photos of you two, amongst other things.

Slowly, his eyes grow heavy, and he stuffs your phone back into your pocket, closing his eyes as he curls around you possessively.

The two of you sleep like that til someone comes in the morning, and sees you and him curled up, the thin blanket thrown on the floor by Dakota so when it got cold you'd curl around him.

Dakota’s eyes are already open by the time the nurse walks in, giving her the middle finger and that crooked grin on his face while her eyes widen, and she slowly walks out, closing the door.