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Determined to make up for missing out on Christmas holidays, Reanne was way ahead of the curve this time. Unlike her previous plan to go out for a meal, the girl figured an at-home date would be better for this time. It beat the cost of those holiday mark up prices and she could actually make something more personal. In fact, she had spent the week planning out the dish she planned to cook for when Alex visited that evening. Her day was really just her cooking a nice spread of dishes and cleaning up her apartment. It was a lot of work, but her excitement kept her going along with the motions, humming happy melodies as she imagined how her boyfriend might react to her date plan.
She knew they normally went out for their dates, so the change of pace to do something at home was definitely different enough to be special for Valentine's Day. Not to mention, it would be the mark of one year since they officially started dating too.
When Alex arrived after his shift, Reanne had just finished setting the table for them to eat, her cooking apron still on as she led him to her spruced up cheap dining table. The table was covered with a red and white checked tablecloth and in the middle sat two cheap plastic candle lights. The plates on each side of the table held a delicious and decadent surf and turf entrĂŠe consisting of a filet mignon and shrimp with sides of mashed potatoes and green beans. Honestly, a home cooked meal was nothing like the intended homemade chocolate, but hopefully her feelings would still be conveyed.
â I'm glad you made it, â she said, pulling out a chair for him to sit at, â I've been looking forward to this all day! â
The girl couldn't help but let her smile stick on her face. After all, she never tired of seeing her boyfriend when she had the chance. Even if it was one of her least favored holidays, she could never have her mood ruined if she had the opportunity to see him and whip up a nice meal for once. Cooking for herself was one thing, but cooking for Alex had her all excited to show him what she was made of. She wanted to know what he thought of her cooking, as he was a guy keen on cooking himself.
â I know this isn't chocolate and I know you prefer to be the one cooking all these things, but I wanted to show my stuff too, â Reanne went on to explain with a bit of a sheepish twirl of the ends of her shortened hair, â that and I actually suck at making chocolate. I'm not much of a baker. â
Moving around the table, she turned on the mini candle lights that she set at the center, â Happy Valentine's Day, Alex. â
Left work early? Done. Pretty packaging? Check. Clothes all changed and free of any flour? Check, check, check. This had to be Alex's greatest feat of the year, and it had only been the second month of the year so far. The fact that he had managed to finish this painstakingly long task on time was a miracle in itself, and he still looked good enough for the rest of the evening. Maybe there is a slight tinge of smoke on his shoulders, but the scent of strawberries should mask the disaster that threatened to be born from his oven. Everything was fine, and that poker face smile on his features wouldn't give away his little weakness with baking. Reanne didn't have to know the details that took place before he arrived, not one bit.
He certainly would not have minded a night-in with her. Of course, it was Valentine's Day and Alex would be an absolute idiot if he grew complacent like he had in recent months. A machine can always have improvements, and the man swore to deliver. Then again, Reanne did beat him to the punch before he could even think to bring her out for the holiday. As if that would stop him from getting her a new fresh batch of sunflowers, even amidst the cold transition from winter to spring. Eyeing her apron as he slipped off his shoes to the side, Alex swallowed as the scent finally registered into his sense.
He blinks with surprise, almost caught off guard by the gesture. Hadn't he been the chef in this relationship? Swallowing the sudden build up of saliva between his teeth, he attempts to hide the flustered blush on his face with his hand that held the bouquet. "Am I at the wrong place? I'm supposed to be at my girlfriend's place, not a restaurant." He wonders if she hears his nervous stammer, but there is no doubt she could see the grin he had been fighting to conceal as he sees the set-up. It's cheesy, but in a good way that makes him giddy on the inside. His hands grow sweaty as he sets the flowers down nearby in sight, and quickly, he spirits himself behind her.
His arms twitch with this urge to engulf her in an embrace, but Alex hesitates before he could. A clenched fist behind his back, he only hovers and allows his warmth to radiate behind her in a complex translation of want and a need for closeness. Too close, he thinks to himself in a gesture of restraint. He could have moved away to give her some space, and he does pull awayâ but not too far, only enough for him to set that pretty box on an empty space on the table.
"I ain't that much of a baker either, but that's never stopped me from trying. I hope you still like fruit tarts, sweetheart." Lips curled into a slight smile, he sets down the carefully boxed tarts onto the table. He remembers that conversation from ages ago when they had barely known one another. Reanne had not explicitly given him a preference on the sweets she had liked, other than mentioning she enjoyed a lot of it. He couldn't have been anymore grateful for his strong memory, practically having memorized what she had listed down on the things she would have liked.
An assorted set of six small fruit tarts, and he would keep an eye on what flavors she seemed to gravitate towards for future reference. Not that he would ever get better with baking, but for her, he would try. His exes would throw a fit if they knew he had been reduced to this.
There was no other way to hide the way his jaw falls slack when he studies the plating. She even bothered to make the presentation look so fancy. "Filet... mignon? This stuff is what you see in those expensive restaurants. Even the butcher don't give cuts like these for cheap. You didn't have to, darling." His heart is accelerating at the thought of a homemade meal that was not done by his hand. Was he sweating? Shit, he was. Dark blue eyes were trained onto Reanne, flickering down to the cut of meat already on the fork. Why would he not have a bite now? He could barely contain his nerves as he bites, then takes another of the shrimp, then the potatoes without another word.
All manners were thrown out the window now, his tongue too eager to express his immediate thoughts after sampling her cooking. "I really liked what you did with the searing of the meat. How long did you have it on the pan for? It's so soft inside too..." He manages to say in-between chews. Alex does not devour the dish entirely, taking his time to savor the flavors rather than vacuum the entire thing like he does when at home. Everything is taken much more slower with Reanne, not that he minded at all. It was his way of prolonging his time with her, especially after his periods of absence.
After a slight gulp of water, Alex sighed and smirked at the girl in concession. "I think you had me beat with the shrimp. I honestly think you'd do better than me in the seafood department." He sings the praise so easily as he bites down onto another piece of shrimp, gesturing for her to join him in eating. "Have you tried it yourself? I'll have you try out my version of the dish so you can see just how well-done your seasonings were. What's the secret?" The man teased, itching to wipe the plate clean. The thought saddens him though, knowing that there could only be so much bites for him to savor and burn to memory.
Then he paused for a moment, digging into the pocket of his jacket to pull out a much more smaller box. "There's also this," His voice was much more quieter now, uncertain as he slides the item to her across the table. Careful to not knock down the candlelights, he pulls back his arm and glances away. He did not think himself to be the best when it came to gift giving, compared to doing favors and making things happen with sheer determination and luck. Within the box, a set of small hair clips with the likeness of small sunflowers. He imagined they'd look nice on the crown of her head where she would do her pigtails, but the technicalities of hair accessories were very much lost on him.
Alex could not bring himself to look her in the eye and gauge her reaction. "Don't hair clips make your scalp itch? I tried them once out of curiosity and I thought they were going to grow roots on my head." He had known that Reanne liked her hair accessories, often donning ribbons early on in their friendship. He hasn't seen them in a while, now that he thought of it. He swallows to himself, wiping his lips on a napkin before clearing his throat to salvage his diminishing courage.
"I kept seeing those at a windowsill. Thought about you every time I passed by. I mean, I think about you all the time I see sunflowers." The confession is quiet. A part of him wants to go die in a hole for how cringe he sounds, but he keeps rambling anyways. "They're so bright, and you're the brightest thing I see all the time. Prettiest girl in the world, but so bright it puts my headlights to shame." God, I sound so stupid. A dreamy-like sigh leaves him as he loses himself in thought. "I sound like an idiot, but that's what effect you have on me. I can't articulate how weak my knees get when I see you happy."
His neck was heating up now, and that was his cue to shut up before he got anymore awkwardly vulnerable. Clearing his throat, Alex flashed that charismatic smile and waved off his shy exterior. "You've spoiled me, Reanne. Can I at least massage your hands? Come on, you can nap on me after I clean the dishes for you."
Despite the holidays, things had been busy for her. Considering her retail job, she was stuck with the shifts everybody was calling out from. Because she had no family time excuse (and her boss knew that), Reanne was obligated to take on the work. Thankfully, she would get holiday pay, but it sucked that she wouldn't be able to spend the day of with her boyfriend. Despite the fact she had tried to set up a reservation for a decent place for Christmas dinner earlier, the girl supposed it was a blessing she wasn't able to make that work out.
But she hated the idea of not doing anything. She hated the thought of leaving Alex alone for Christmas. She didn't want to look like she was getting payback or anything either. So, her compromise was to give him the present she had carefully selected after intense deliberation early. From all their conversations in their early days of running into each other, Reanne could tell Alex might have a thing for cooking. It was funny since she only realized this recently despite having known him for a good, long while.
While the book she had picked out was probably generic, she had tried to find something with home-y and cozy style, easy dishes that could be whipped up in a short amount of time after a long day of work. She knew Alex had a busy schedule and she wanted to give him something that could be helpful in that regard while also catering to what he liked to cook (except she didn't know the slightest thing about what he liked to cook, and all she could hope for was that the style of cooking was up his alley).
Similar to how he always showed up at her apartment, Reanne had decided to surprise him as he got off of work. He probably didn't expect her to be waiting out in the rain, but at least she had an umbrella over her head this time, actual long pants that covered her legs, and a zipped up puffer jacket to keep her warm.
The moment she saw Alex exit the premises, her eyes lit up and she bounded over to him as if too excited to contain herself, the gift tucked under her arm as she joined him under the awning. Her face slightly red from the cold, the girl greeting him with a bright smile, her heart swelling at the mere sight of him. Ah, she really, really wanted to see him. It was still surreal to see him so soon after last time.
With a bit of hesitation and fidgeting back and forth on her toes, Reanne revealed her gift and held it out to him, â It's a bit early but... merry Christmas. â She gave him a bit of a wry smile afterwards, almost apologetic as she explained why she was delivering it early, â I unfortunately work Christmas and I didn't want to leave you alone on that day, so... maybe see this and think of me? â Well, a cook book wouldn't really do that, but heyâshe wasn't the best at this sort of thing.
Christmas had become somewhat of a somber affair over the past few holidays. Aside from seeing the folks outside the city, his memories of the holidays were a blur of alcohol and overnight security shifts at a rinky-dink casino. A second Christmas in the city without any family around, but at the very least, there was a consolidation that he could make someone happy this year. Not that he would tell Reanne he was already prepared to call in sick for the holidays, she didn't have to know such details. Since that conversation, maybe he had been a bit too future oriented. Shame had already flooded his ears at the recollection of his very simple but repeatable mistake. The site was cold, but the amount of physical labor that he was conducting had driven him mad from the heat. Sweat was beading down his temples, even his parka had been clung around his shoulders like a towel. Going out into the cold like this might be his downfall, but it wasn't as if anyone was going to chastise him for such reckless behavior. And then he sees Reanne making a beeline towards him from the pavement. The effect of her presence was embarrassingly immediate. His ears were now red with something else, and so was his face. Fingers scrambling to tug on his parka over his body, he found his own legs tugging him towards her in a rush. He didn't care about the frigid rain at all. Maybe he made a show of his biceps for a good split-second, that shameless man. "What are you doing here? You're going to make all my coworkers jealous of me, sweet girl." The smirk he had often used on her in the past had failed, melting into more of a smile. Gingerly taking the umbrella from her hands, Alex used his height to their advantage and shielded her from the rain. Was the water sliding down onto his backside? Yes. Did he want to complain about any of it? Absolutely not. His lips part with warning, ready to warm up the car for her when the world stills. The fidgeting and sway of her movements send him into a loop of short-circuits and short thoughts. Cute. Too cute. She must've been acting like this on purpose. There just had to be no way that she didn't know what her mannerisms do to him. It took moments for him to stop staring, startled by the gift she had gotten her. "You didn't have to get me anything, Reanne." His dumbfounded stare had softened into something much more tender, his calloused hands taking the book into his hands. It's got that new book smell that he likes. Underneath the shelter of the umbrella, he somehow manages to cradle it in his arms and look over the contents. Fancy, he thought to himself. He hadn't even realized he was smiling, already calculating what he can and couldn't replicate. Maybe the presentation wouldn't be as put together, but these were a deviation from his usual protein-filled dishes. Feigning a sad long sigh, Alex shut the book and leaned down to her level. "I can't see you for Christmas, and I know you tried to have something planned too. I see it in your eyes!" An uncharacteristic pout graced his features, but it was only playful in the way his eyes stole glances at the book. "I'll think of you, alright. I'll look at it and wonder what I can do to make you like my cooking some more." Carefully now, he leans closer as an invitation. There was hesitation, waiting for her to either lean closer or keep the distance. A hand hovers on the small of her back, escorting her to the safer part of the sidewalk as cars pass them by in the rain. "How about dinner and a show for the holidays? I'll even wear the apron with the kitties on it." He murmured near her ear, the pitter-patter of the rain taps at the umbrella's fabric. Approaching his car, however, his blood ran cold as he recalled that his damned gift was in the backseat.
"I know you're mad at me. Got every right to be," He tells her at the doorway, voice low and soft. Alex was always shaper around the edges, firm but never ever soft like this. He wouldn't let anything show, simply because of how much panic might possibly derail the conversation.
Of course he cared, but he should have known better than to think that she would simply adapt to his sporadic appearances. He knew very well that this wouldn't be fair to her, but the immaturity within must've gotten the best of his senses. Alex got reckless when he had no reason to be, not when life was turning up and he had no reason to fall back into bad habits. Work was all that was there, to get a house and live a simple life away from crime and the likes.
It took another heated argument with Ophelia for him to realize the long painstaking mistake he kept making. Both parties seemed to be more alike than he thought, but he hadn't had a real reason to hide or make himself absent. It was just the selfish workaholic in him, followed by misplaced goals. Sure, he had wanted to afford better things and treat Reanne to luxury, but he was never there to do those things, was he? And so there he was now, fumbling with a singular sunflower in hand. If he remembered correctly, she hadn't been a flower person, but she liked sunflowers. It was a miracle that he remembered that so easily.
Alex's face softens, and he doesn't dare to look away from her. He isn't afraid of rejection, and he knew he had it coming from miles away. "Smack me, get mad at me. I'm a bastard, an awful one at that. If you hate me, I won't blame you either." He rasped against the cold, swallowing to himself with a slightly nervous gulp. At least, he had forgotten the trick to seeming indifferent to situations like these. Reanne didn't need to see that side of him at all, nor did she need to know the panic and alarm banging inside his chest. "I want to make it up to you in the way you want it."
UNPROMPTED âalways accepting.
Life had been rough lately. She was stuck in a job she hated and felt stagnant in, her studies had halted, and her dad was giving her grief over it (and he even went so far as to mention her accursed sister who was doing far better with her career path than she was). Job hunting wasn't going so great either. While she had been applying to everything she could think of, nothing seemed to land. Not to mention, a lot of positions wanted people with degrees for some reason.
The stress also didn't help her either. Reanne felt tempted to go for the wine and get herself drunk, but she didn't even have the kind of money to get a decent bottle. Of course, feasting on food in order to try and feel a little better ended up with her purging and going back to square one with those volunteer group meetings. Honestly, with how backwards she had been going, the girl wondered if she should just quit trying to change that stupid habit and obsession she couldn't get rid of. And therapy? Ha, she lost the means to pay for it considering the rift with her father.
So, the plan was to have the day to herself doing what she wanted to do. She had planned to hang out with Keith. He had said he had prepared something for her, and he was going to drop by her place in the afternoon so they could hang out for more than just a couple hours if she wanted to. Considering Alex, her boyfriend, was never around and her father was quite tired of her, that was the best she could do for herself.
(don't mind this word vomit, i had to)
The slight tremors in her grip did nothing to soothe the dulling ache in his chest. This was not at all what he expected, and that might have been what made his throat tighter than before. Alex was most accustomed to angry outbursts. After all, with a stepmother that enjoyed berating him and a line of women that always seemed to find something wrong with him, he was no stranger to the cold shoulder.
When Reanne spoke in that soft fragile tone, it almost chipped him apart. He tried not to fixate much on how her jaw grew tight, the lack of eye contact, and just how much smaller Reanne had looked. I made her so small. The rock had lodged itself onto his tongue, and all the tension in his body is forced into his heels where she cannot see the way he grows so still. Alex can't bring himself to wallow in his own pool of regrets, and he knew better than to start when Reanne must've submerged herself in something worse.
The cold was sneaking into her space now. Quietly, he had maneuvered his way inside and was quick to rid himself of his boots. He had closed in the gap so slightly, but he doesn't engulf her that instance. All that comes is an outstretched hand, calloused and rough from whatever dirty work he had been toiling at for the past few weeks. In spite of how long he had been standing at her door, contemplating on ringing the doorbell like an idiot, his palm was very much warm.
"I'm so sorry. I'm here now, I'm here now." He whispers in hushed tones, unlike his cool suave mannerisms that she was used to hearing over the phone. Large hands itch to cup her cheeks and give her so much warmth, a poor exchange for his lack of presence over the months. Still, he holds himself back, afraid she would shatter like heated glass.
Anyone that had known Alex would call him pathetic for the way he looked at Reanne with such softness. Some would even call out his weakness. His lashes flutter shut, and he bends down slightly when his hands urge to hover over her own, barely brushing over her knuckles. "I'll stay with you. I'll stay for as long as you need me toâ however you want me to." He promised her in a quieter murmur, knowingly holding the pieces of a heart he had mishandled. Even if she were angry and resentful, he feared that he would still be waiting at her steps for even a slam of the door.
He shifts forward, only allowing her the sight of his neck and torso. If she wanted to cry, he would at least allow her the choice to hide. Before the silence sank in amongst the shuffling of his nylon jacket, his voice falls into a faint whisper. "No matter how ugly things get, I won't leave you."
art by Fooj (@.puyupyon on twitter) reposted with permission
I canât get over how gorgeous this is!!! Iâm swooning over this girl!

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The pounding in her ears was so loud, yet the room is still so silent. It was the kind of anticipation she would expect when sizing down a fighter that was triple her size, whenever she would enter fights that she knew she would lose. Rather, the biggest challenge of her life was looking Keith in the eye when she had been absent for so long without so much of an explanation save for sparse texts and rare appearances when her face was clean from bruising, or when her mind was clearer than baseline. Hell, she could not even look Rachel in the eye earlier that day either.
For all the shame and self-loathing sitting at the back of her throat, her hands tremble as they present a neatly creased piece of paper. "Here," she swallowed, attempting to calm her pounding heart with a shallow breath. A sheet with printed blocks, presumably a calendar of the upcoming month. Haphazard yet legible scrawls are confined in the appropriate spaces; multiple doctor appointments every Friday, scheduled academy trainings on most weekdays, an hour at the gym multiple times a week, and possibly the most jarring one of all, a handful of time blocks with Keith's name on them on the afternoons, evenings, some mornings when she wouldn't have time later that day. A structure, comparable to her sparse appearances that came and went without warning. That schedule was insurance.
Stomaching the dread in her stomach, Ophelia finally turns away, attempting to fix her gaze upon a spot on the wall to lower that incessant heart rate. "A schedule won't fix anything if I don't follow it. I left you alone, twice." The last word tastes to bitter, so did the acknowledgement that Keith may never bring himself to say. At least, she had to look him in the eye as she apologizes. It was the least he deserved from her now. "I'm sorry, Keith. For everything, but especially for ghosting without even a word. For hurting you." Her voice goes quieter, afraid that someone else would hear that vulnerability in her tone, or notice just how much more difficult it was for her to find the proper words.
That urge to run grows stronger by each passing second. That window was the perfect escape, so was the door. However, if she left now, that would be the end of it. No more visits, no more lingering, no more haunting that poor boy. And so she clenches her fist, holding herself together with such composure that it hides the fear that this fragile line between her and him will collapse. Every word is swirling in her head, coming to a bottleneck before her tongue. I'm sorry for leaving you again. I care about you so much. I thought about you when I was not fighting. I don't want to miss you. I don't want you clinging to the shell I left behind. I'll visit more. I won't leave. I'll be better. All remains tightly lodged behind teeth, and all she could make out is a hoarse whisper. "I want to stayâ I will stay. I will stay." Ophelia wondered in the back of her head if she was saying those words to him, or herself at the same time. For both of them, she had to stay. She wouldn't forgive herself if she couldn't hold it.
UNPROMPTED âalways accepting.
Each time Keith saw Ophelia these days, it felt like a figment of his imagination. Her appearances were always so abrupt, out of the blue, something he struggled to process until she had up and left again. He couldn't bring himself to trust their encounters had really happened. He kept wondering if he had been hallucinating them, that he was probably somehow desperate for her presence so much so that he was absolutely capable of imagining her so vividly. While he knew that they had happened due to his sister's commentary, his heart refused to accept it as true reality. After all, where was the reason to do that if she would be gone again for months? Acknowledging her visits more than a vague thing would only make his daily functioning haze worse.
Niko hardly registered the fact she was only half a body right now. No, he was super aware of it. He knew he should probably let her reconnect her halves together, but each fiber of his being refused to let her go right now. If he let go, it felt like he'd immediately want her in his embrace again. Although he knew Analyn wasn't the type to be comfortable with contact like this for long, the brunette couldn't get himself to remove her from his hold. Yet, her wings moved to shield his arms and then she responded by holding him back tighter.
The sensation of her fingers digging into his back only made Niko relax more against her shoulder. It didn't matter if her bloodstained clothes stained his or that she was barely containing her insides where they were. None of it deterred him. After all, he had carried whichever half back to the other multiple times in the time they had known each other. He was used to the scent of iron and rust, both fresh and old thanks to how she went out to feed. If anything, the corpse was glad she was well enough to go out and search for her food on her own. It meant she was healed from that injury he couldn't get out of his mind.
Slowly, he allowed himself to squeeze her a little more, an attempt to forcibly cut her words off before she could finish the statement with a word that ultimately scared him (he didn't want to think of her dying again), â I'm glad you're okay, â he mumbled softly, a hint of a smile forming on his face. As he was quite close to her ear, the corpse doubted he'd need to talk at his normal volume for Analyn to hear him. It seemed the embrace was helping him calm down much more now that they were actually having a conversation.
â Could you promise me you'll leave notes on the door when you step out next time? â he suggested gently. He had seen the notes on the table when he stepped in just now, but he wasn't the type to invite himself inside if nobody was home, â that way, I won't worry and fear the worst. â
Affection was meant to be warm and soothing. It used to feel like a hearth that melted her on those chilly nights, chaste kisses on the cheek and fixated gazes from across the room. She wouldn't have known that it could come in the form of forearms threatening to crush, a feeling akin to being buried with someone else in the same coffin. They've held hands, linked arms and the like before, often to support the corpse's decaying parts whenever they moved along, but nothing like this. Quite the contrary, to think that Analyn was immune to that need of closeness, the entire world would have been wrong to assume she needed to breathe. A greedy and selfish thing she was, and the woman wouldn't dare look into the reflection to see the damage caused by centuries of isolation and living adverse to people. If Niko were to refuse to let her go, then so be it. Nevertheless, it was too premature to think of such things, a grave so deep that she should stop digging it before she cannot claw her way out anymore. And so, she settles for gentleness when she pulls back slightly, sucking in a chaste breath. "I promise to leave you a message on the door when I've left home, Niko." Her hand rakes upwards, adjusting the bangs from his forehead so that she may see those red hues. The scent of detergent lingers from her arms, presumably from the act of scrubbing the red stains away from her skin. Apart from the redness at the hem of her shirt, the only thing with a rouge hue would have been the slight blush on her cheeks.
"Forgive me for worrying you, let me make it up to you tonight?" She murmured, a hint of guilt behind her eyes when she thinks of how many nights he had spent at her doorway when the lights were off. Still cradled in his embrace, she remains without the intent to leave or run from his touch. For his assurance, she gives a rare playful smile, sharp teeth glinting against the lamplight. "I suppose you have every right to keep me on house arrest this week, yes?"
Being in the fighting cage was much more bearable than any of this. At least in that stupid cage, emotion is thrown out the window and the pain drowns everything out. The debt, leaving home, those feelings of longing were punched out of her system with each unforgiving hit. She would rather face another brutal skirmish in the cage than be reminded of what she had fractured by leaving in the first place.
Taking each blow that Reanne hurled at her was not as easy as enduring fists to her abdomen. How she wished to crawl back to the Madame and beg for another fight, something to numb everything out. Ophelia had already died somewhere between the twentieth and the fifthieth matchup last year, when it felt like the debt could never be repaid and she could never come home.
Still, she takes it all without even a complaint. How could she even say anything when her very hands fractured everything? Perhaps she and her mother were not so different after all, with one of them drinking her misery away and the other, fighting when she couldnât return to a semblance of normalcy.
âI wish I hadnât left either.â Wished that she stayed gone, so that he mightâve moved on and learned to hate her. That would have been easier to bare, but that selfish part of her just had to come home to feel anything but hollow. Sucking a brisk breath, Ophelia finally forced herself to look into Reanneâs glare, swallowing back every urge to bite.
It takes a quick second to remember that she was not in the ring anymore, and there was no opponent there.
âHe wasnât trash to me, far from it.â He was one of the only things that kept me alive in that damned cage. Though her voice trembled with enough conviction, the latter never leaves her lips, and it remains buried with every other selfish thought she would take to the grave. How she wished to say more, but something wasnât letting her. Not the guilt or shame that she had carried, rather the words being jumbled and lost in her head before they could even formulate.
Fuck, she should get that checked out by a professional.
For once, she didnât look so stoic now. Her expression is resigned, but softer attempt now. It was uncertain whether it was acceptance or defeat, perhaps both. She was Ophelia right now, not this vicious fighter that only knew how to break jaws. âIâll see him.â No promises to become someone that died in the ring. No promises to fix everything that she had broke. To see him would be a start, an overdue apology. Whether it meant that things had to end or that there was still something to salvage, she would do right by him this time.
â You certainly treat him like trash, â Reanne automatically commented at Ophelia's words, her volume diminishing more into a hushed retort as if it wasn't meant to be picked upon. Yes, she was being overly harsh (and that was probably why she instinctively lowered her voice), but she was also in a state of not truly being unbiased. The auburn haired girl had her own grievances that were spilling into this moment. She hated this feeling of loneliness. It sucked only having one friend to turn to when nothing seemed to be going right. Keith was wonderful, but she didn't want to burden him more than she already had. He shouldn't have to shoulder his own and her stupidly heavy problems on top of it.
As much as she wanted to believe Ophelia would be true to her word, Reanne had her doubts. She doubted she'd actually stay with him. The idea of her leaving Keith again pricked her heart more than she'd like to admit. She had already left him twice without warning, for months at a time. It was becoming a pattern she didn't want her friend to fall victim to.
As her rage subsided into contemplation, the girl's grip on her shorts eased and her expression softened, her eyes no longer glaring daggers. Yet, she still felt the swirl of unpleasant feelings mixing in her chest. It was as if there was more she wanted to say but couldn't find the words. Certain emotions that were mixed in weren't ones she understood nor could make sense of. Turning her head to face the empty playground and reset a little, Reanne took a moment to take a deep breath (remember, that was what the therapist said to do when things felt overwhelming).
Except that moment only made her recognize her own hurt. The way she longingly scrolled through her texts with Alex, hoping and wishing he'd send even one random message to break up the long string of apologies on his endâmaybe he'd call and she could actually have a conversation with him. She wished he'd send a stupid picture or a cringey message just to have a sense of a relationship againâwhy did things feel so much more real when they weren't dating? Why did he get so distant from her ever since he showed up to her place on Valentine's? Why was everything falling apart the moment she decided to love someone again? When she thought she could finally get a semblance of a happy ending? She chose to follow her heart, and it betrayed her again, cruelly so. The people she loved would always be taken from her.
Bringing her arms to hug herself, she fought the urge to cry over the last message she got from her supposed boyfriend. In an effort to stay a little more composed, she curled her body slightly, hunching herself over her knees for a moment.
I'm sorry.
I'll make it up to you, promise.
What a stupid set of words that lost their meaning.
She could only hope she wasn't visibly trembling from her stupid feelings as she found words again, â You and Alex do the same stuffâyou say things but then never follow through. I can't even expect replies from you guys except for the constant 'I'm sorry' or simple 'seen' markers on the bottoms of my messages. If I'm feeling this hurt over the pattern of being strung along and treated like dirt, unable to fully trust or believe you when you say crap like you'll actually do something this timeâ â She paused to catch her voice, sucking in a breath to hide the way her words wobbled along with the tears brimming at the edges of her eyes, â âthen Keith is in fucking hell over it! â Because he always took it so much worse than she did.
Had she been any younger, Ophelia would have skipped to the part where she comforts and consoles. Instead, her expression pulls back into one of utter shock, pupils shrunken with alarm. "Him too?" She rasped, looking at Reanne with such a distraught face. Unbelievable, absolutely unbelievable. Something colder within Ophelia wanted to scoff at the irony of it all. For someone who scolded her on what it means to be absent, that very same man didn't seem to be following what he preached. Ego and utter betrayal had began to bubble up inside her, but nothing of the ear-pounding rage that she had been living with for weeks. The tension in her shoulders fell slack, exhausted from holding back her own emotions to stomp away and track down that stupid engineer doing who knew what. Alex had a good life, a better life than she did at the moment. What in the world was he doing that left him as a ghost now? She expected better from him, especially after he had told her to clean up her act before slamming the door on her.
Rising from her spot on the bench, Ophelia grows conscious of her frame. A bit taller now, the pain in her neck shocks the rest of the way down. Her body shifts in a subtle motion, shielding Reanne from the view of the incoming passerby who might be wondering what the commotion was about. Her heart continues to run in a pitter-patter motion, racing with a mixture of anxiety and that urge to numb everything out with bruises and thrown fists. Gritting her teeth, she makes a pathetic attempt to hold back her own tears when her eyes are cast onto a patch of grass nearby. Guilt, shameâ none of it would permit her to let emotion bleed, not when she deserved it the least in this moment. She had done a good job of holding everything together for months, and Ophelia refused to let it collapse now.
"Fucking asshole," she hissed softly, arms twitching upwards in an attempt of a hug but it never falls through. Much like a chained dog, she couldn't lunge and provide comfort when she might crush her, anger her if she dared to comfort. And so she stands, hiding Reanne from the world. "He and Iâ absolute bastards, the worst of them." But Ophelia knows that Alex was a good man. An idiot at best, but a good man if there was anything left. Reanne must've known that too, and that fact made the idea of him being just as absent so painful to bear. At least, Keith had a better excuse to leave Ophelia at any given moment. Potential cranial damage and a series of aggressive coping mechanisms was justifying reasons to be a terrible love interest, but Alex had none of that. He could still fix it, he had to for all that scolding her gave her. The reflection makes a crack in her restrained expression, and she forces out a strangled noise. "You should smack him next time you see him. Yell at him, or something." Her low pitch rises an octave, hands slipping on her own composure with some sort of desperation. She's struggling to find the right words, ignoring the buzzing in the back of her head. "He's a grown-ass man, he can handle a take-it-or-leave-it ultimatum if you gave him one. You shouldn't be putting up with it," she breathes, biting into the inside of her cheek to the point she threatened to draw blood. "And neither does Keith. Neither of you should be."
@aeipathcy let the girl go off!
It was almost a mystery how Ophelia found herself at a park with Reanne. For someone who didn't want to be found, the dark haired girl made no move to run when the other entered the space. Between entering the underground ring and getting out, it was getting hard to remember if they've ever crossed paths in between. Maybe once in the academic advisor's lounge, but since Ophelia had dropped out completely from university altogether, her whereabouts had grown too obscure. With all the beatings she had taken to the head, there was no damn way that her cognition was still intact. She couldn't possibly survive an education now, and all she had now was her strength. Even that, she found to be a curse when her hands seemed to break more things than fix. That energetic girl that Reanne had crossed paths with time to time was not there anymore, just a coward that was pulling at her dearest friend's heartstrings.
Ophelia knew anger when she saw it, she's lived with it her entire life and seen it everywhere. However, Reanne wasn't some hulking brawn looking for quick money in the ring. The reminder immediately made her fists relax and release into her palms, the adrenaline had left her body as quickly as it came. Breathe, it repeated in her head as it had for the past few years like it was her only lifeline. She couldn't meet Reanne's eyes, focusing her gaze on a street lamp that had flickered on. The sun was going down, and people like them shouldn't be out at this hour. "You're holding back," she breathed out, voice much more lower and rougher than it was years ago. Perhaps she sounded a lot older too, jaded even. "You wouldn't have sat there for ten minutes in silence if you didn't have something in mind."
Somehow, she had ended up at that park Keith kept telling her about. Honestly, Reanne had never been here herself. She wasn't the one found any semblance of peace or relaxation by sitting on a bench and watching the time move in the form of activity around a park. Yet, she found herself with no choice but to humor the location when she spotted a familiar person sitting at a benchâpresumably the one where Keith also spent his time painting (as he told her he did). Even though she had sat down, Reanne had no words to say right away. For once, she struggled to string them together.
So, she and Ophelia sat there in silenceâat least, until the dark haired girl finally broke the silence.
At that, Reanne couldn't help but spill the thoughts swirling in her head, â Well, yeah, of courseâ I have to somehow vent my feelings about how you never replied to me and then I have to figure out how to be angry at you for taking Keith for granted! â If she were honest, she wasn't even that upset that Ophelia never replied to her texts. She was more upset at the thought of her doing the same to Keith, the boy who had given his heart to her. That boy, who was so damned caring and devotedâ he was someone who'd break if the person he gave himself to decided to abandon him.
â He's been waiting for so damned long, Ophelia! I swear to god, he was practically broken the last time I saw himâ how could I not be upset with you for causing my best friend so much pain?! â
And she wasn't the person who could help him feel better either. As much as Reanne wanted to help, her presence wasn't the one Keith kept yearning to see. The one he wanted to see was Ophelia, and this girl kept... infuriatingly stringing him along. She'd give him a moment of contact and he'd give her all the time in the world to consider returning to him.
â I can't help but be pissed off that you're treating him like trash! I wanted to support you, but you're giving me too many reasons to be that bitchy friend who gets in the way! I won't accept any of your excuses either. â It was so so funny how it was Ophelia who helped him get out of that hole of isolation and depression and now she was the one putting him back in there.
As her frustration became louder, the girl couldn't help but clutch at the fabric of her shorts to contain her anger. She shouldn't resort to slapping anyone, as much as she'd love to in order to bring Ophelia back to reality. Instead, Reanne figured a glare would be a little more appropriate, â You can't expect to leave, go no contact for months, and then return to everything being just as you left it! Heck, I'd be happy if Keith found someone else who actually did more to respect him and his time and devotion! â
Being in the fighting cage was much more bearable than any of this. At least in that stupid cage, emotion is thrown out the window and the pain drowns everything out. The debt, leaving home, those feelings of longing were punched out of her system with each unforgiving hit. She would rather face another brutal skirmish in the cage than be reminded of what she had fractured by leaving in the first place.
Taking each blow that Reanne hurled at her was not as easy as enduring fists to her abdomen. How she wished to crawl back to the Madame and beg for another fight, something to numb everything out. Ophelia had already died somewhere between the twentieth and the fifthieth matchup last year, when it felt like the debt could never be repaid and she could never come home.
Still, she takes it all without even a complaint. How could she even say anything when her very hands fractured everything? Perhaps she and her mother were not so different after all, with one of them drinking her misery away and the other, fighting when she couldnât return to a semblance of normalcy.
âI wish I hadnât left either.â Wished that she stayed gone, so that he mightâve moved on and learned to hate her. That would have been easier to bare, but that selfish part of her just had to come home to feel anything but hollow. Sucking a brisk breath, Ophelia finally forced herself to look into Reanneâs glare, swallowing back every urge to bite.
It takes a quick second to remember that she was not in the ring anymore, and there was no opponent there.
âHe wasnât trash to me, far from it.â He was one of the only things that kept me alive in that damned cage. Though her voice trembled with enough conviction, the latter never leaves her lips, and it remains buried with every other selfish thought she would take to the grave. How she wished to say more, but something wasnât letting her. Not the guilt or shame that she had carried, rather the words being jumbled and lost in her head before they could even formulate.
Fuck, she should get that checked out by a professional.
For once, she didnât look so stoic now. Her expression is resigned, but softer attempt now. It was uncertain whether it was acceptance or defeat, perhaps both. She was Ophelia right now, not this vicious fighter that only knew how to break jaws. âIâll see him.â No promises to become someone that died in the ring. No promises to fix everything that she had broke. To see him would be a start, an overdue apology. Whether it meant that things had to end or that there was still something to salvage, she would do right by him this time.
@aeipathcy here! here!
This time, the lights are on in her home tonight. By some miracle, he managed to catch her on a night where she came home early from a feed. The sounds coming from within are as quiet as she had been, but the slight flapping of wings indicates some livelihood compared to the quiet stirs of her lounging on a couch. A faint metallic scent lingered slightly; not her own, an odd implication of what she had been doing moments before midnight. Long hair had obscured the view of her missing lower half as she washed her hands by the sink, cleansing herself of whatever nasty deed she had committed to fill her stomach. Anything to stave the hunger, a temporary fix to keep her from transforming into something far more animalistic than she already was. Folklore dictated that she craved some unlucky newlywed or newborn child, but Analyn wasn't too far gone yet. At the very least, she had some sense to only take what she needed before anyone suspected a demonic presence in their homes.
In theory, she would live. Perhaps if she was that consistent, she might even live longer than that walking corpse she had let into her heart. The thought of a longer lifespan nagged at her throat like a lodged rock, an idea she found it harder to ignore. For years, she imagined wasting away when her body would no longer tolerate the hunger. And for what felt like a while now, a future bubbled more frequently that she anticipated. Footsteps had startled her, prompting a strangled sound from her throat. Whipping her head back, she could only sigh in relief as her expression softened. "Niko," she whispered, quick to turn off the faucet and wipe her hands on the nearby cloth. How she missed him so, though her lingering absences were known to them both. Being at home when he couldn't visit, then outside for a feed when he would comeâ she's already resorted to post-it notes on the table. Her chest warms at the delight of catching one another. A stained white dress shirt covers the mess of her torso as she approaches, and perhaps he notices the set of legs underneath a blanket. No one had to see that gruesome mess if she could help it. She moves to approach, but then she pauses, only a few feet before him. Something was amiss. Call it paranoia born from insecurity or mere intuition, but the woman's expression falters slightly as she leans forward, a hand reaching out. It only retracts behind her back, the mannerisms of an individual too afraid to overstep. "Hey, what's wrong?" She whispered, uncertain warmth on her tongue.
At this point, he wasn't expecting anyone to be there. The corpse had almost let his brain cement the idea that whatever he told her that day was said to a twice dead corpseâthat none of it reached her ears and that she was long gone before he could even begin to regret not doing anything different this time to save someone precious to him. The slow steps he normally took while walking were even slower as he made his way to Analyn's little cabin in the woods. Niko didn't dare try to convince himself the sight of her house looking all abandoned for anyone to pillage would be any different. Even as the trees seemed to whisper loudly as he passed by, he paid the wind no heedâit wasn't like he knew what they were saying in the first place.
Except, it was different this time. The corpse paused at the door, half alert and half on autopilot as the difference forced his brain to function a little bit more. His hand froze at the doorknob. His gaze peered into the little window on the door.
For once, the lights were on.
For once, the door was cracked open.
For once, the sounds of life resounded within the walls.
Hesitantly trudging inside the cabin after what felt like so long, Niko found himself facing a sight so mundanely domestic he thought he was dreaming. There she was, the one he so longed to see, hovering at the sink with the water running. He didn't miss the sign of her having been split in two, and with one glance, he noted where she had stashed her legs. Of course she would stash them away; she never liked anyone seeing her midsection.
As the brunette made his way closer, he found himself dragging his hand along the kitchen table, of which his fingers brushed against a pile of sticky notes. He didn't get the chance to read what was on them because the gentle sound of his partner's voice stole his attention immediately.
She called for him. Somehow, things started feeling a little more real again.
Frozen in his own spot, the woman had closed the distance from her end. Her black eyes looked up at him, her concern clearly etched onto her face.
Without a second thought, his arms reached out to pull her close and embrace her. Even if she was only half a person right now, half was better than six feet below. His arms trembling, Niko couldn't help but need a few extra moments to simply process he was touching and feeling a very real body in his arms. Her body was warm (or at least relatively warm compared to his barely alive self). Letting himself drop his head into the crook of her neck, Niko allowed himself to savor Analyn a little bit more, his fingers grazing against parts of her hair. He could hear her heartbeat at the pulse point in her neck, and that was what got his nerves to finally let him function at normal capacity.
â You're... really here, right? â his tiny voice questioned, â I thought I hallucinated it all... because I... I hadn't seen you since... â since he poured his heart out to her in desperation to stop her from choosing to die.
She should have recoiled back. No matter how touchstarved and needy she could be, the gesture of an embrace would have crossed a thousand lines between them both. Attachment was there, but physicality was a dangerous line to play with. It was feeding a drug to an addict barely-recovered, blood to a demon on a hunger strike. It shouldn't have felt so good, and the warm sensation betrays her logic entirely. Her leathered wings cease their flapping, almost covering the arms hooked underneath her shoulders like shields. With upper body strength she had mustered into her arms, she clung tightly onto the man in turn despite whatever discomfort she had been feeling with her disemboweled form. Hadn't her insides disgusted him at this point? Niko even dared to clutch her so tightly when there was still a stranger's blood on her shirt. She ought to playfully chastise him then, but that too-quiet voice almost shatters her into pieces. He surely felt her pulse tap against him faster, followed by the shallow choke in her throat. "Ohâ No, no, no. Niko, Iâ" Regretful stammers fell from her lips as it dawns on her, the terrorizing realization that she had allowed time to lapse too far without ever truly seeing him. Ache lingered in her chest, but it is all pushed and tucked away when she grips him even tighter; to confirm, to give proof that she was still there and not wasting away in the forest on her own terms. The scent of preservatives is comfort to her now, and she drowns in it when she responds with desperation when her knuckles softly dig into his back, chin nudging a dent into his muscle. Is gentleness even something she was capable of, even now? Still, she musters all the softness she could manage into her voice, the one thing that didn't seem so scary about her tonight.
"I'm so so sorry, Niko. You must have been so lonely. I'm here now." Her voice is hoarse with remorse and guilt, an acknowledgement of the dark she had left him in. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm notâ" âdying. Analyn swallowed the words down her throat, not wanting to put that picture in his head for a second time. Instead, she allows him to bury himself deeper, as further as her hollow torso could manage. "I won't leave you here, not like that." If the foreign blood on her clothes were any indication, she wouldn't mention it.

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@shadyinfo POST CONFESSION ART SAYS HI
art by lazzledazzler
đ¨đ¨đ¨ HE'S BLUSHING HE'S BLUSHIIINNGGGâ *ophelia u better get ur shit tgt, he is a good man!*
@shadyinfo LOOK AT THEM!!
artist
omgomgomg REANNE LOOKS ABSOLUTELY GORG--- ALEX U RAT OF A MAN, GET UR SHIT TGT ><
@aeipathcy let the girl go off!
It was almost a mystery how Ophelia found herself at a park with Reanne. For someone who didn't want to be found, the dark haired girl made no move to run when the other entered the space. Between entering the underground ring and getting out, it was getting hard to remember if they've ever crossed paths in between. Maybe once in the academic advisor's lounge, but since Ophelia had dropped out completely from university altogether, her whereabouts had grown too obscure. With all the beatings she had taken to the head, there was no damn way that her cognition was still intact. She couldn't possibly survive an education now, and all she had now was her strength. Even that, she found to be a curse when her hands seemed to break more things than fix. That energetic girl that Reanne had crossed paths with time to time was not there anymore, just a coward that was pulling at her dearest friend's heartstrings.
Ophelia knew anger when she saw it, she's lived with it her entire life and seen it everywhere. However, Reanne wasn't some hulking brawn looking for quick money in the ring. The reminder immediately made her fists relax and release into her palms, the adrenaline had left her body as quickly as it came. Breathe, it repeated in her head as it had for the past few years like it was her only lifeline. She couldn't meet Reanne's eyes, focusing her gaze on a street lamp that had flickered on. The sun was going down, and people like them shouldn't be out at this hour. "You're holding back," she breathed out, voice much more lower and rougher than it was years ago. Perhaps she sounded a lot older too, jaded even. "You wouldn't have sat there for ten minutes in silence if you didn't have something in mind."
@aeipathcy here! here!
This time, the lights are on in her home tonight. By some miracle, he managed to catch her on a night where she came home early from a feed. The sounds coming from within are as quiet as she had been, but the slight flapping of wings indicates some livelihood compared to the quiet stirs of her lounging on a couch. A faint metallic scent lingered slightly; not her own, an odd implication of what she had been doing moments before midnight. Long hair had obscured the view of her missing lower half as she washed her hands by the sink, cleansing herself of whatever nasty deed she had committed to fill her stomach. Anything to stave the hunger, a temporary fix to keep her from transforming into something far more animalistic than she already was. Folklore dictated that she craved some unlucky newlywed or newborn child, but Analyn wasn't too far gone yet. At the very least, she had some sense to only take what she needed before anyone suspected a demonic presence in their homes.
In theory, she would live. Perhaps if she was that consistent, she might even live longer than that walking corpse she had let into her heart. The thought of a longer lifespan nagged at her throat like a lodged rock, an idea she found it harder to ignore. For years, she imagined wasting away when her body would no longer tolerate the hunger. And for what felt like a while now, a future bubbled more frequently that she anticipated. Footsteps had startled her, prompting a strangled sound from her throat. Whipping her head back, she could only sigh in relief as her expression softened. "Niko," she whispered, quick to turn off the faucet and wipe her hands on the nearby cloth. How she missed him so, though her lingering absences were known to them both. Being at home when he couldn't visit, then outside for a feed when he would comeâ she's already resorted to post-it notes on the table. Her chest warms at the delight of catching one another. A stained white dress shirt covers the mess of her torso as she approaches, and perhaps he notices the set of legs underneath a blanket. No one had to see that gruesome mess if she could help it. She moves to approach, but then she pauses, only a few feet before him. Something was amiss. Call it paranoia born from insecurity or mere intuition, but the woman's expression falters slightly as she leans forward, a hand reaching out. It only retracts behind her back, the mannerisms of an individual too afraid to overstep. "Hey, what's wrong?" She whispered, uncertain warmth on her tongue.
â Vampires don't exist, what the fuck are you on? â Randel @ Mikel trying to convince him of his vampire status for the nth time.
He, too, used to think that these monsters only lived in paper and lips that spoke of fable and myth. It would have been the kind of stories that human mothers would tell to misbehaving children, not that Mikel would have known nor remembered at this point. A part of him wonders if his human mother told him these silly myths, if he ever cowered at the thought of being eaten alive by shapeshifting wolves or walking corpses. No one really remembered who he was when he was boy, and that was for the best.
And yet, all that remains are the traces of his human weaknesses. Though his fangs had sharpened, skin paled and wickedness had long consumed him, flesh still breaks so easily. No amount of naturalization will ever change the fact he was made, not born of the same blood as his kin, the ones that took him in and made him into something remarkable.
Not that anyone would have to know that he was built from human flesh, far from the the dark his soul was meant to be composed of. Mikel can lie for another thousand years if it meant no one will have to know his human heart and flesh. He will lie until the world believed it, until he, himself, cannot recite his own falsities without fail. At least with Randel, there was no questioning the legitimacy of his being. Poor stab-happy man hadn't the slightest clue of the monsters in this region of the world, not to mention he seemed to reject the idea of the existence of Nosferatu's children. It irked the redhead, a bit too much for his liking. This man had the rarest opportunity to interact with, let alone befriend a cutthroat vampire like Mikel. He would not stand for this ignorance to go on for another evening longer. Crossing his arms in utter disbelief, Mikel let out a whiny groan of frustration. Textbooks and old scriptures are sprawled out all over his desk. His little coffin is opened and unhinged at the back of the room, followed by empty chalices all over the floor. The vampire sits across the table from the reaper, attempting to fight the headache that is Randel.
âI did not drag out centuries worth of ancient vampiric history for you to tell me that my kind does not exist!â It isnât so much an offence, but pure disbelief that the evidence isnât enough to prove the existence of vampires. Mikel ran a hand though his hair before dramatically pulling at his own face. Then he points at the mirror which had seemingly only reflected furnitures rather than the vampire nearby.
âAnd this isnât enough to convince you?! How behind are you with the times?!â
Mikel cannot even drain a poor soul in time record. Anyone can drink another personâs blood, not necessarily a vampire! He was not from a higher clan either that had fool-proof ways to prove their lineage. It didnât help either that his cursed human-born body would only tan in the presence of the sun for a few hours instead of burning up entirely like the original demons would.
He really would have baked himself in the daylight just to prove that was right at this point.
Huffing to himself, Mikel threw his hands up in the air with defeat. âFine, you win today! I give up! I surrender!â He drawls dramatically before collapsing onto his couch. âIâve had it with your obliviousness. Whatever god resides above or below, no miracle can possibly drill this into your thickheaded skull!"
It was a different sort of disbelief. It was unlike the way other onlookers would stare at him in the past, often glances of surprise and shock when his kinsmen would whisper his every origins. A humble village, not the dark. Human child, and not the spawn. Down to the vibrant red hair, unlike the black ebony tresses of the Faust. Oddly enough, Randel hadn't made Mikel grit his teeth and flash his snark-filled smile like he would to every other creature that questioned him. He could easily call this comfort, one that he rarely found in the company of others. It allows him to glare without intent, followed by a boisterous sigh. "Listen, listen." Mikel muttered, throwing his head behind his shoulder to face the reaper. He puts up a sarcastic grin, flexing his slender fingers. "I don't really mean that! It's not that I have no faith in you, friend." The endearing term still sounds so foreign on his tongue, but never false. How could he lie to Randel, who had yet to lie to him in return? Pushing himself off the plush cushions, he marched straight to the reaper and placed a hand on his shoulder with a light squeeze. "But you will see me tomorrow night, yes?" He tells the other with such certainty. "You won't have to pick the locks on my window if you promise to visit, Randel."

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If this wasn't a sign of the world ending, it was certainly a surprise for sureâthe sight of the familiar white haired reaper carrying a bouquet of assorted pink and red roses in his hand was a sight to behold, and he was making his way toward the most scandalous room in the entire manor: Mikel's personal quarters. Thankfully, Randel did find his favorite red haired duke lounging in his own space, a mischievous grin stretching on the reaper's face as he approached and shoved the flowers in the other's free hand.
Before Mikel could even bother to question him as to the occasion, Randel put a hand to his mouth, covering it before a word could slip out from it. In the span of a few short moments, he had pressed a kiss to the back of his own hand as he pinned Mikel where he was, almost as if the act could be felt by the person he intended to receive it.
Of course, he wouldn't let any stretch of time pass for the duke to grasp what even happened. Almost lingering too long, Randel forced himself away, drawing back and removing his hand. He didn't dare look back as he made his way toward the window, sliding it open and escaping into the night. There was no way he'd stay long enough for Mikel to drag answers out of him for this one.
That lingering flavour on his tongue was driving him mad. Even after draining a line of offerings, both human and inhuman, it was incredibly difficult to drive his mind away from that reaperâs pungent scent. It was absolute absurdity that Randel would just bait him and disappear for days on end when Mikel admittedly wanted his company the most.
Well, it wouldnât necessarily be his company. Only another opportunity to get a taste of that bitterness that was associated with that death collector.
How Mikel hated this. Only an unlucky few had ever seemed to have a grip on his tastebuds, and all of them either ended up dead or were simply far beyond his reach. Not Randel, no. Randel will reappear, one way or another, or so help the reaper that Mikel would not find him himself. The redhead contemplates on an accidental cut, just a small sliver lest he, too, falls to gluttony and kills the only other one that seems to tolerate him most.
If only Mikel had the same ability to tolerate his own hunger, just as the progenitor starves herself to remain the presence of her charge. Masochistic thing, he thinks to himself with such disdain. Such hunger is so unbearable, and yet she can tolerate it for weeks and weeks at a time. Mikel had already fed from an entire line of human bloodbags until they could no longer tolerate it, and he was still very much hungry. He felt it in his core, felt it in the back of his mind, and now, his hunger is evident in the way he had snapped towards the doorway of his quarters.
Pity, he left the curtains open this time, especially for the reaper.
Everything was lost the moment when flesh his lips, a cruel tantalizing taunt. Had Mikel gained his wits in time, he wouldâve mercilessly dug his teeth in like the beast he really was. But that scentâ that scent! Eyes wide and pupils shrunken, they are trained onto that lilac shade that seems to taunt him.
The gesture is not lost on Mikel when Randel leans onto the back of his own hand. The vampire is frozen by his own volition, restraining himself as that urge to destroy Randel and himself started to fester. His hands are itching to dig in somewhere, fangs aching so painfully.
Before he could even act on those baser instincts, Randel is already gone.
The world spins and all Mikel could hear was the pounding in his ears, followed by a shaky hand creeping nearer and nearer to his lips.
A gesture of affection. A display of power. Imbalance. Madness.
Something wicked in Mikel calls out to the fleeing shadow. That monstrous thing caged inside human flesh calls to the hunt, the chase.
There is nothing elegant about the way Mikel staggers to the open window, his back hunched over as he climbs over the windowsill. The breeze harshly combs through his hair, silencing the flare of his nostrils trying to track down that scent. Hunger clouds his mind, and channels itself into his eager feet. No longer is the charismatic egocentric man that enjoys ruining plans with little to no effort.
At the end of the day, he would be no different from the other beasts in this coven.
âDid you really think you can outrun me?â He hisses, wondering if the wind can carry that threat. A glance to the moon tells him that the night is still young. âDid you really think you can do that to me and just do as you please?â Itâs a maddened grin on his face, almost painted with a sense of amusement and rage. A shuddered breath leaves Mikelâs lungs as the memory flashes behind his eyes, a sort of yearning bubbling underneath that blood thirst.
With an impulsive leap, the hunt for the reaper begins.
Randel may have never wanted to stay, but Mikel did not have enough patience to just let him leave.
With a happy smile, Niko couldn't help but nuzzle into Analyn's side as they sat in front of the warm fireplace. It was almost surreal that they had somehow ended up officially together, and the brunette certainly felt too giddy for his own good. He was a smiling mess since he heard his now girlfriend's honest words, and of course Niko wouldn't waste a moment to spend time with her now that she seemed to be inching much closer to a second death than before.
Carefully taking hold of her hand, the corpse gently ran his thumb over her knuckles, slowly bringing her hand closer to his lips. He was so tempted to be cheesy intimate, but he better ask first. His gaze moving towards the woman sitting beside him, he put his intentions in words, casually requesting permission, â Is it alright if I kiss your hand? â
There was a certain thrill that came with the modernity of dating. Courting had been what she was used to and even then, she had only been courted for a very short time before her first death. Quite a waste of potential, now that she thought of it. Given that was already several decades old, only giving the apperance of a mature yet oddly youthful woman, she could only imagine of the many other opportunities she would have had if she never had that cursed wedding.
None of it would matter now, though. Dating seems to be all the rave in this place, not to mention that the age of courting had long since passed. It wasnât so much that she had clung onto traditions so stubbornly. Rather, she embraced this strangeness. After all, her seemingly long life was still short compared to what eternity can bring. One might as well enjoy the fruits of what life decided to give them, even after life had forced her to deal a poor hand. It was just one bad card after another, but none of it really seemed to amount to much when she finds herself brushing knees with that handsome corpse.
âItâs warm.â The irony is not lost on her when she feels the cold radiate off from her skin. At least, he didnât seem to mind the alarming gap in her midsection obscured by dirtied sheets, or the way her leathered wings seemed to twitch ever so often. Analynâs expression is frozen as always, save for the slight subtle glances to her partnerâs face whenever she thought he wasnât looking.
She never really knew how to give affection through touch. Such an opportunity was never given to her before, even when she was being set up for marriage. Now that she thought of it, she cannot really recall the man she was promised to. Memories she had once clung onto in all of her grief were beginning to fade into rust, replaced by the comforting scent of preservative chemicals and minerals. Another dead man with a foot in the grave, while she reached at him from the burial site. It was a rather tragic circumstance that they were both due to erode away soon, but one of them would sooner than the other.
Still, it is so easy to forget about that horrid fact. Too easy to fall into normalcy when he looks at her with such adoration. With a slight hitch of her breath, Analyn couldnât control the smile from reaching her cheeks. In an attempt to conceal herself, however, her free hand poorly covers the lower half of her face.
âAnd why would I refuse such a gentleman like you?â The warmth of her voice weighs more than the dead glassy look in her eyes that even sparkles with light when she looks his way. âYou may do as you please,â she adds, her fingers brushing against the skin of his hand, tethering between shyness and that urge return the gesture tenfold. She knew better than to pour too much of herself in, not when she didnât even know how much that man can take.
A ghost of a giggle bubbles from her throat. âYou can come closer, Niko.â Analyn finds herself whispering, hinting a bit of mischief in her voice. âI donât have an excuse, really. I am fond of you being near.â Flowery lanuage had suddenly stopped being her strongest suit. Arts were all lost on her. Everything had been lost on her in Nikoâs presence, but she wouldnât have it any other way when he seemed to make the ghost of her heart race this way.