#everyone help

People say that once you get used to sleeping next to someone, it becomes impossible to sleep alone. You thought it would be the opposite. You enjoyed sleeping alone, preferred it, even. You like the space to move and roll around and you like to wrap the blankets around you to form you into a burrito-like shape. It became somewhat of a joke between friends that when you finally did find a partner, you’d end up sleeping in separate beds. Secretly, you agreed.

For Arlecchino, nobody assumed she’d even find a partner. The woman is so closed off with her feelings that one wonders if she even had any, if they died along with her best friend and Mother so many years ago. When the topic of relationships was brought up (seldom as it was to even get past the first two sentences- she would shut it down before anyone could get anything out of her), her excuses were dismissive, claims of work taking precedence over any interpersonal relationships, claims of the not-so-secret but somehow very-secret project the Fatui are working on, and her biggest excuse yet- the children. “The children need a stable figure to guide them as they grow. Relationships are most definitely not stable. It does not teach them how to fight. Sorrow and anger make you weak, yes, but I would argue that love makes you defenceless.” would be a sentence she uttered often.

Of course, that was not the only reason. Processing what had happened to the people close to her is something she neglected to do, and she does not need to be haunted further by yet another shadow, or even worse, another conscious body following her around the way Clervie had, whether as a manifestation of her bloodfire, or a manifestation of her conscience rearing its head when she had worked so hard to pretend it doesn’t exist. Love is not something she should get herself involved in, she has told herself time and time again. She has stared into the mirror an endless number of times, both as a newly appointed Father and more recently, when she finds herself alone. Her priority has always been the children, and she refused herself the privilege of living comfortably. Until you, obviously.

When you first began sleeping next to each other, you had been dating for a while. It took a while for her to even let you into her house. You seem to notice that her house has the faint smell of citrus. Lime, perhaps. You wonder where it comes from, but you assume it's some sort of air freshener. When you first began occasionally sleeping over, her touches were few and far between. Not in any malicious way, of course, but almost like she was restraining herself. You were too, in a way, not wanting to overstep any silent boundaries she had set. It was an awkward time.

Now, though, after a long period of time of getting her to open up, she clings to you like a moth to a flame. Case in point, this morning. You wake up to the soft light entering your room, filtered by the curtains covering the glass. The first thing you notice other than the light is a pair of strong, muscular arms wrapped around your middle, clutching you and keeping you close. You let your hand gently move across the marred skin, feeling each scar and muscle of the arm holding you so tightly. A face is buried into the back of your neck, gentle breath tickling the skin, and displacing the hair there. Arlecchino’s body is warm, warmer than the normal person's body would be due to the balefire that courses through her veins. You try (and fail) to escape from her grasp with a little wriggle, but her arms only pull you closer, her voice coming out hoarse and gravelly.

“Stay,” she mumbles into your hair. “It’s early. There isn’t a need to get ready for the day yet.”

“I have to, there’s so much to do today.” you yawn, twisting your body to face her. Your arms snake around her, one under her neck and one around her waist. There’s sleepiness in her dark eyes, and she looks up at you groggily. She looks vulnerable like this, and you think she’s almost smiling. Almost. She groans slightly as she stretches out, her muscles rippling as she does so. Arlecchino’s face buries back into you soon after, and her grip on you doesn’t loosen in the slightest. One of your hands comes to gently caress the waterfall of snow white hair, occasionally painted with black streaks (and the one red one she touches up every six weeks), massaging the scalp and gently scratching whenever she lets out a soft sigh.

“You smell good.”

“I just woke up, I’m not sure there’s much to smell.”

“That may be the point. You do not need to put on any fragrance, I enjoy the scent of you. Just you.”

“You say, as if you don’t fill your home with the scent of limes. Limes, of all things.”

“That is not what we are conversing about. We are conversing about you, not some citrus fruit.”

You can’t the small chuckle that seems to escape your lips. She’s so soft like this, you think, you can barely believe her status in the Fatui (you’d forget entirely if it wasn’t for the glint of the dagger placed deliberately on her nightstand. She says it’s for your protection- you know she had it there before, too, but now she has a reason to keep it there). Her nails, filed to perfection, trace circles on your back, and her free hand pulls your thigh over her hip, bringing you as close as you can possibly get.

“Must you go? Surely, you can push back any arrangements you have today and stay with me a little longer.”

“You know I can’t, and neither can you. Do you not have that meeting?”

“Yes. With some other Fatui, but none of them are worth my time when you’re here. They mean nothing to me. You mean everything.”

“That is why I'll be here tonight. You can hold me again.”