#full chapter

No. Adorno wasn’t supposed to be there. It was supposed to be Lohen and Theodore, it was supposed to be a quick and efficient take-down, and it wasn’t supposed to end with Adorno bleeding out in a back alley.

A flash of lightning. A rumble of thunder.

“This wasn’t…this wasn’t supposed to happen…”

His voice was tiny. Wavering. Weak.

“Oh, boys,” Adorno said, a smile stretched across his face. “Don’t cry over an old man. My condition has been grave for some time, anyways…I’ve been taking so many medications that Theodore has to sort them all out for me.” He chuckled. “My death was inevitable. Don’t blame yourselves.”

“It wasn’t…it wasn’t supposed to happen…” Lohen sobbed. “Like this…”

“We can still help you!” Theodore screamed, his brows knitted together. “Lohen, let’s get him in the car and take him to Mond Medical!”

Hot tears welled in Lohen’s eyes. They mixed with the constant downpour of rain as they rolled down his face, and in a trembling voice, he whimpered, “We can’t.”

“What?! What do you mean we can’t—?!”

“Theodore.” Adorno coughed, his hand grasped around the younger man’s wrist. “Taking me to the hospital would only make things worse for you two. And even if you did take me…I don’t have much time left. Instead of worrying like this…won’t you listen to an old man talk?”

Lighting flashed, illuminating the deep wrinkles and soft skin of Adorno’s face. Thunder clapped, loud and unbearable.

“We’re so sorry,” Theodore sobbed. “We never meant to get you caught up in this, Adorno!”

“It’s quite alright. I’ve had an inkling that the two of you were doing something like this for years now. That’s why…I ragged on you about benevolence so much. I hoped…maybe I could steer you two the right way.”

Lohen lips parted. No words came out.

“Listen well, boys. This will be my last request to each of you.”

Theodore let out a gasping cry.

“Young Theo…so smart and knowledgeable.” Adorno lifted his hand, brushing his fingers along Theodore’s cheek. “I know you wanted more than anything to join the force. But your skills as a paramedic are undeniable. You’ve saved countless lives, just like Lohen and I have.”

He didn’t want to hear about saving lives. Not when he and Theodore were the reason Adorno was losing his.

“Have faith, Theodore. Go forward knowing that you are more than enough. You always have been.”

Adorno’s head turned slowly to Lohen’s. When Lohen met his gaze, he swallowed back a wail.

“Lohen,” he said, his eyes steady. Unwavering. “Regardless of what you may think of yourself, you weren’t made to be a hunter. To be blessed with your tactical prowess…your skill with blade and arms…Lohen, you were made to protect.”

He reached his hand up. Lohen numbly pressed forward, feeling those fingertips slide against his hot tears. With wide eyes, he stared down into Adorno’s loving gaze, the gaze of the man who was a father to him.

“One day,” Adorno said, “I know you’ll find someone you want to protect. At that point—.”

Thunder.

“Just focus on—.”

Thunder.

“Be good—.”

Thunder, thunder, thunder.

“Love and protect that person, Lohen. Okay?”

He grasped Adorno’s hand, squeezing it tight. Mindlessly, numbly, he nodded his head.

“I want you two to have—.” Thunder. “Protect the weak, don’t—.” Thunder. “Because you’re strong, the two of you. Stronger than any boys…I’ve ever met…”

Theodore’s scream ripped through the air.

Thunder, thunder, and thunder.

The beat of his own heart.

It’s 10 AM at the precinct and you’re sitting in an interrogation room with two people you’ve never met before.

“Hello, Miss…?”

Your ears burn. “You can…call me Bunny.”

“Miss…Bunny. Interesting nickname.” The man extends his hand to you. “My name is Albedo. I’m one of the detectives here at the Mond Police Department. This is my junior colleague, Sucrose.”

“Hello, Miss Bunny,” Sucrose says, shaking your hand as well. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to…meet you too.”

You look down at the table, wringing your hands together in your lap. One-way glass separates the room you’re in from the police officers just outside of it. You wonder, for a moment, if that means Lohen might be one of them.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us today,” Albedo says. “Allow me to explain why we’ve summoned you today. Sucrose, if you would.”

Sucrose places a manila file folder onto the table, flipping it open. She slides it over to you with a large, professional headshot sat inside of it.

Your eyes run over the features of this man, who you haven’t seen in quite some time. He’s one of the clients you used to go on “dates” with, but ever since you started seeing Lohen, you’ve left his messages unanswered. It’s not unusual for you to ghost clients for weeks and only respond when the money’s tight, but it’s probably been months since you last talked to any of them.

More importantly, what does this man have to do with your questioning? If anything, you thought they would be asking about Tohler.

“Do you recognize him?” Albedo asks.

“Yes,” you reply. “That’s Dr. Allec. Um, why do you ask?”

Sucrose adjusts her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Just this morning, M.P.D. conducted a welfare check at his residence. He didn’t show up for work, and his employer couldn’t reach him either. They were incredibly insistent that this wasn’t like him.”

Something knots at your insides. Your face feels unnaturally cold.

“This morning he was found deceased in his apartment,” Albedo explains. “It appears to have been a suicide by hanging.”

“Suicide?”

“Yes.”

Your eyes run over Dr. Allec’s features, your mouth hanging open. “That’s…that’s awful.”

“I agree,” Albedo answers. “Miss Bunny, I am sure you are also aware of the death that occurred two days ago at the cabaret club? In which Mr. Tohler suffered a life-ending seizure?”

Sucrose slides another folder forward, this time with Tohler’s face on it. You glance between the two men, trying to discern where the detectives are going with this.

“I’m aware. I was working that night, and he was one of my clients.”

“Right. Thank you for verifying.”

Sucrose takes over. “Albedo and I are detectives who specialize in cases involving toxins. Although we initially believed Mr. Tohler to have passed from a natural seizure, when we performed testing on the glass he drank from before his death, we found traces of a chemical compound. Are you familiar with dichloromethane by any chance?”

Your brows furrow. “Dicholoro-what?”

Sucrose smiles. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Dichloromethane,” Albedo says. “It’s a colorless, often odorless liquid that is incredibly volatile. Meaning it evaporates extremely quickly. It’s also quite lethal. Depending on how much a person has ingested, death may occur in…seconds, or minutes. Maybe even hours.”

You’re not sure what to say to that.

“It was a faint trace we found, but Mr. Tohler’s autopsy revealed a picture consistent with dichloromethane poisoning. He had massive ulcerations in his stomach lining, that can’t be explained in any other way. Therefore, we believe this chemical compound to have been the direct cause of his death.”

Your lips part. “You’re saying he was…poisoned?”

“Yes.” Albedo gestures to the photos. “And Dr. Allec is our primary suspect.”

This doesn’t make sense.

“You seem confused,” Sucrose says.

“Well, I…I mean…”

You’re no legal expert, and you’re certainly not guilty, but something within you tells you to hold your tongue. Your voice fades to nothingness, your hands clutching atop of your thighs.

“Would you say that you and Dr. Allec had a close relationship?”

“Not…close,” you mutter. “Not romantic, I mean. I used to…go on dates with him. When I was low on money.”

“I see. Would you be able to provide me with a rough estimate of how long you two were in that sort of relationship?”

“I wouldn’t call it a relationship.” Lohen flickers through your mind. “But maybe a few months?”

Sucrose is scribbling something down. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

“Have you been in communication with him recently?”

“No.”

“Has he tried to contact you?”

“...Yeah.” You sigh. “I ended up blocking him.”

“Why?” Albedo asks inquisitively. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Er,” you say. “I have a…”

The word boyfriend hangs on your tongue. Is it better for you to come out with it, or to keep it hidden?

Why are you tiptoeing around the topic of Lohen? He couldn’t have done this. He was at the Goth Grand Hotel, the double homicide. Chief Varka can attest to that. So how could he have killed Tohler from all the way over there?

He couldn’t have possibly done this.

“...I didn’t need the money,” you say eventually.

“Okay.” Albedo nods. “I have one more question for you. Sucrose, if you would.”

A third manila folder comes out. Your heart starts to hammer in your chest, your throat feeling choked. When Sucrose flips the file open, Detective Lohen’s headshot stares up at you.

“Do you know this man?”

Ah, fuck.

“Would you care to name him for me?” Albedo asks.

“Um,” you mutter, “that’s Lohen.”

“How do you two know each other?”

Albedo doesn’t say “if you don’t mind me asking” this time. The look in his eyes hasn’t changed since you’ve sat down, and that fact intimidates you. At least Sucrose gives you a smile every now and then, so it’s a bit easier to talk to her. Albedo’s gaze is stoic and calm, but something about that makes you more nervous than ever. You swallow, fiddle with your thumbs, and cross your legs at your ankles.

“He’s my boyfriend,” you admit.

“Oh?” The amused sentiment doesn’t reach Albedo's eyes. “For how long?”

You feel like it’d sound suspicious if you refuse to answer. “Maybe a month? Not that long.”

“Hm. Thank you.”

Sucrose jumps back in. “While Dr. Allec is our primary suspect in this case, Detective Lohen is also a person of interest. That’s why we want to ask you a few clarifying questions.”

“...Okay?”

“Back to Dr. Allec.” Albedo slides the photo forward. “Would you say that this man exhibited any signs of jealousy or anger at any point in your relationship?”

Anger, probably. You had ghosted him for weeks. But jealousy?

“Uh, yes,” you say. “To both.”

Why are you lying?

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“Um,” you stammer, “he sent me some nasty texts when I was ignoring him.”

“Elaborate on the jealousy, please?”

“Er. He…didn’t like it when I mentioned…that I’d done things with other clients.”

Why are you saying this?

“How would he react?”

“...He’d get mad,” you say, your eyes focused solely on Dr. Allec’s portrait. “He’d say stuff like…‘I’ll kill them’…”

Sucrose is scribing again.

“Do you think that he meant it?” Albedo asks. “That he actually had the potential to kill someone for you?”

You think of those red-blue eyes of Lohen’s. Unblinking. Unwavering. Searing.

“Yes,” you say. “I do.”

Albedo has his doubts.

“What?” Kaeya asks, wearing the same lazy smirk as always. “So it’s a murder-suicide. Case closed, no?”

“Case closed.” Albedo glances at Sucrose, who nods in agreement. When his eyes linger on her, she flinches.

“What?” she asks. “Um, do you…do you not think that the pharmacist did it?”

Albedo twirls his pen around his fingers, staring down at the various interrogation logs they’ve formed within the span of a few hours. They’ve talked to Rosaria, the cabaret manager. Mika, the overworked waiter. Mona, the strange fortune-telling woman who tried to lengthen her interrogation by performing a divination. Conflict of interest or not, they still haven’t spoken to Lohen.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to work this into something more than it is.” Kaeya points at Rosaria’s interview log. “If anyone would know who’s obsessed with the bunny girl, it’d be her, no?”

Indeed, Rosaria had testified that Dr. Allec was always strangely obsessed with her employee. She even went as far as to call the man something of a sexual deviant. But when asked about Lohen, her claim was simple.

“He likes a lot of the girls. I’m not aware of him having any relationship with Bunny outside of work.”

To the last fact, Mona had testified similarly. As had Mika. No one in the cabaret could establish enough probable cause to bring Lohen into questioning. Credit card reports showed the man was present that night, exported text messages showed he cared for Bunny, but no one could establish if Lohen was privy to Tohler’s sexual assault of his girlfriend. That, and the fact that Lohen had been offsite at the Goth Grand Hotel with Chief Varka. Without any security footage, Albedo couldn’t ascertain when Mr. Tohler’s drink was poisoned, much less by whom.

Was this all just a giant list of conveniences?

“What about this guy?” Kaeya tapped the photo of the nondescript man they spoke to that morning. “You found traces of laxatives, right? He said he, quote-on-quote, ‘blew up the bathroom’ that night.” He drags his finger to Mona’s log. “Didn’t she mention that Lohen had the same problem as well?”

Sucrose says, “In my eyes, it seems that Lohen was a victim of Dr. Allec’s ire. And that he only killed Tohler because of the way he touched the woman he loved.”

“But we can’t place Dr. Allec at the scene,” Albedo argues. “There were no purchases made under his name that night. No one can testify that they saw him, either.”

“You don’t have video footage,” Kaeya says, wagging his finger. “For all we know, he could have walked in, sat down, and asked for waters all night.”

“That very well could have been the case. However, we don’t know that.”

“Isn’t the letter at the scene concrete evidence enough?” Sucrose asks. She slides it atop of all the other files. “We verified this as Dr. Allec’s handwriting. He admits that he used laxatives on the others and poisoned Tohler’s drink. He was a pharmacist, so it’s not unreasonable to think he had easy access and an immense knowledge of chemical compounds.”

“It’s just strange. How does a pharmacist play espionage the whole night, wreaking havoc on the drinks, without anyone spotting him?”

“Colluded with the kid?”

“No, Mika would have no motive to participate in such a thing.”

“He’s sneaky?” Sucrose asks with a wince.

“Only an incredibly practiced person could sneak past everyone like that. Especially in this large of a club.”

Kaeya scoffs. “Albedo, don’t tell me you think Lohen has anything to do with this. That’s one of our own you’re talking about.”

Albedo’s quiet. He sighs through his nose, shaking his head.

“There’s not enough evidence for me to accuse him of anything.”

“So case closed then.” Kaeya smirks, giving Albedo’s shoulder a light tap. His eye turns fond when he says, “Come on, ‘Bedo. Let's go out for drinks. Wanna come too, Sucrose?”

“It’s 12 o’clock, Kaeya…”

“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere, my dear Sucrose.”

“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere, my dear Sucrose.”

BEEP.

One of the police officers drives you back to the tall complex Lohen’s condo is located in. You wave at her before heading inside, inclining your head at strangers as you pass.

When you finally unlock his front door, you run straight for his bedroom. You launch yourself into the left side of his bed, burying your face in his pillow. Your fingers curl into the soft fluff, and after a deep inhale, you let out a relieved sigh. It still smells like him.

You miss him. You feel so awful about how this morning turned out, how he had reacted when you shot down his proposal for you to live with him. It ripped your heart in two to see him leave in such a hurry, all because of you and your idiotic brain. Miss Rosaria had told you best—when a man tells you a bunch of sweet nothings, you nod your head and smile. If only you had listened to her.

Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

You flip onto your back. Quickly, you reach for your vibrating phone.

[Lohen] Hey Bun. I’m sorry about this morning. I’m on break, so can we talk? Only if you want to.

Ah, your heart aches for him. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when you press call.

He picks up immediately. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you answer quietly.

“I’m sorry—.”

“—I’m sorry.”

You both speak in unison. Blinking, you cup your phone to your ear and ask, “Why are you sorry?”

“Huh? Why are you? I’m the one who messed up.”

“No,” you say, your brows furrowing. “I messed up. I should have been honest with you.”

“Honest with me…?”

“I’d live with you,” you say, your face burning. “I would.”

“Oh. Oh, uh…hm. We can talk about that later.” He pauses. “I’m sorry I walked out on you. I was just embarrassed.”

You smile. “It’s okay. We both messed up.”

“...Yeah,” he says. “We both did, huh?”

He chuckles. You giggle with him, your free hand kneading his pillow all the while. You enjoy this blissful silence until Lohen speaks again.

“I wanted to tell you about the case with Tohler. You remember that pharmacist guy who used to ask you for nudes all the time?”

Goosebumps prickle at your neck.

You’ve never told Lohen about Dr. Allec.

“Well, we found him dead this morning. Hung himself in his apartment and left a letter saying he was obsessed with you…it was creepy.”

“That…is creepy,” you mumble.

Your mind wanders. You don’t find the memory you’re looking for. Where is it hiding? Why isn’t it coming to you, like all the other ones do?

“Hey, you okay?” Lohen asks. “You’re not scared, are you?”

Your throat tightens. Like you’ve got a collar around it.

“...I’m…a little…scared.”

“Aw, Bunny. Don’t be. As long as you’re with me, I’ll never let anyone hurt you, you know?”

Do you know? As far as you’re concerned, it’s Dr. Allec who killed Tohler. Ah, yes, Dr. Allec! Now you remember. It was some time after you met Lohen. Sometime after you fell in love with those red-blue eyes. When he told you he loved you, that he’d do anything for you. Sometime after that was when you told him about Dr. Allec. It’s just fuzzy, is all. Maybe you got drunk on the champagne.

Champagne killed Tohler.

Distract yourself.

“H-hey,” you say, laughing shakily. “You know, I’ve been wondering…why do you like me so much anyway, Lohen? Like…it feels like you just randomly picked me. If that makes sense.”

“Hm? Why do you make it sound like that?” He chuckles. “If anything, I feel like you picked me.”

A bead of sweat rolls down your forehead. “What do you mean?”

“Pft. You mean you don’t remember? That night we first met?”

“Uh…vaguely.”

He hesitates. Laughs a little, though it sounds kind of stiff.

“Don’t worry, Bun. I’ll remind you.”

It was 8 PM at the cabaret club, and Lohen was being forced by his obnoxious boss into one of the most gaudy buildings he’d ever seen.

“This’ll be good for you, kid! These ladies are experts at socializing.” Varka’s hand clapped against Lohen’s back. “Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two about speaking to women.”

Lohen’s eyes took in the scene with little delight. Women in bunny suits walked around all over the place, pretty, sure, but boring. Men Varka’s age and older seemed to be the prime customers, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. When Varka’s head went whirling towards one of the girls as she passed, Lohen rolled his eyes.

“So you’re an old pervert,” he said.

“Wh—?! I’m not a pervert!” Varka protested, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just like booze and pretty ladies. Is that a crime?”

“I really don’t see what this has to do with being a better detective,” Lohen argued. “And the poster on the door said there’s a ‘bring a friend, get fifty-percent off’ deal.”

Varka looked nervous. “Did it now…?”

Lohen sighed. Yet another HR email had been sent to Varka complaining about Lohen’s behavior, but he’d rather take the one-on-one meeting in the office than be forced into a social outing with him. Absent-mindedly, Lohen stirred his straw around his glass of apple cider, pouting as he longed for his personal array of laxatives and hallucinogenics in the car.

“Ah, here comes one of the girls now,” Varka said, perking up instantly. “Hey there, Miss Bunny!”

“Hi Varka. And…?”

The booth seat crunched when you sat into it. Lohen continued to stare into his cider, completely ignoring you as he thought of the million other things he’d rather be doing. Screwing with the data files of yet another investigation sounded fun. Or maybe hunting with Theodore.

“He’s Lohen,” Varka said, his arm elbowing the aforementioned man. “Sorry, he’s, uh. Not the most social.”

“Oh…that’s okay. Neither am I, really. That’s why this job kinda blows.”

“Eh, you’re just slow to warm up to people. I think you’re a great hostess!”

“Ha…thanks. Oh, shit. I’m not supposed to tell customers I hate my job. Please don’t tell Rosaria.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, hon!”

Varka let out a roaring laugh. Lohen shot him an annoyed glare.

“What do you wanna drink tonight, eh, Bunny?”

You were silent for a moment. In a low mumble, you said, “That apple cider looks good.”

He gave you a curious glance. Your eyes were fixated on his glass, and when you realized he was staring at you, you sat upright with a start.

Badump. Badump.

Lohen reached for his chest. Furrowed his brows. Looked at you again.

“Champagne,” you said suddenly, your mouth moving lyrically with the syllables. “Champagne would be nice.”

You blinked your long eyelashes over your lustrous eyes, but he could see the tension in those arms of yours. And you kept looking at his drink too.

Lohen flinched when he heard Varka snort.

“You know what? I gotta use the restroom real quick.” He made obvious, overexaggerated winking gestures at Lohen. “You kids don’t have too much fun without me!”

Lohen hated Varka for bringing him here with a passion, but all of a sudden, he really didn’t want to be left alone. His fingers gripped his glass, cool and moist with condensation, as his eyes moved desperately between the bunny girl across from him and the main entrance.

How the hell do you talk to a girl? Lohen was wracking his mind for an answer, feeling warmth spread through his face all the while.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” you said. “Are you a detective too?”

“Huh? Detective? Me? Yes.” Lohen fumbled his words, feeling the flames of his cheek blaze hotter. “I’m a detective. I, uh, just got a promotion, actually.”

“Oh, really? Is that why Varka brought you here?”

“Nah, I doubt it. I think he just wanted the ‘bring a friend’ deal. Or whatever it is.”

“Ah…that does sound like Varka.”

Why did you know so much about Varka? Why did it kind of sort of bother him?

“Um,” he stammered, “did you say you wanted champagne?”

“Hm? No, I—I mean, yes.” You nodded your head, tapping your fingers together. “I really love champagne…yeah.”

He pressed his fist to his face. “I’ll order you a bottle.”

“You don’t have to—.” You paused. “Sorry. I meant to say thank you.”

When Lohen saw the brilliant smile stretched from one corner of your lips to the other, his pulse went dead. He gawked at you with wide eyes, his fingernails threatening to dig through the fabric of his pants as he stared at your pretty face. Something about you seemed to set him on fire, and it was as though the air around you radiated nothing but pure warmth.

“You look like a princess,” he blurted.

Silence fell between you. Lohen’s jaw fell open, and he was immediately shocked that he had said such a thing aloud.

Fuck, you were so going to laugh at him. Fuck, would that make him wanna end himself right then and there, or would it make him unreasonably horny?

“A princess, huh…?”

You leaned against your palm, directing that sunshine smile off into the distance. As you blinked your eyes, your hair framing your face like the pretty picture you were, you murmured, “I wish I was one. Maybe then I’d have a knight to save me.”

Lohen’s jaw snapped shut.

“One day, I know you’ll find someone you want to protect. You’ll find someone you’d kill for. Protect that person, Lohen. Do whatever it takes.”

He inhaled a shaky breath. You jumped, your eyes blinking rapidly.

“Oh man,” you said, lowering your head. “Sorry, that was kind of silly of me to say. Jeez…how embarrassing.”

Fuck, you were made for him.

“Hey kids! Looks like you two hit it off quick.”

Varka was back. Lohen returned to his uninterested expression, praying the color in his face wouldn’t give him away too badly. As Varka talked nonsense to you about one thing or another, Lohen stared into his glass. Swirling the straw in the golden liquid, he stared at his faint reflection across the cider’s surface and kept his mouth shut.

After all this time, he had found it. The “something” that man had wanted him to protect.

With you, he was going to honor that man’s final wishes. With you, he was going to repent for his sins.

With you, he was going to ensure that all you ever needed was him.

You smile against the receiver. “So you’re my knight then?”

“Why of course, Lady Bunny. You said you needed one, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” you laugh. “I guess I did.”

He laughs back.

“Well, I gotta go. Break time’s over. Oh wait—before I forget. One of my coworkers mentioned that Windblume’s coming back around soon. Wanna…be my date?”

You feel like a teenage girl when you lean your head back and giggle.

“My dearest knight,” you purr, “it would be my honor.”

He laughs. “Good. I’m glad. I’ll talk to you later, okay, Bun?”

“Okay,” you answer. “I…”

Your mouth hangs open. The words won’t come out.

“Love you,” he murmurs, his voice giving you chills. “Bye, pretty girl.”

He hangs up, and as the steady beeps of the ended call ring in your ear, your mouth slowly clamps shut.

When Lohen gets home, you go running right into his arms. Before he can greet you, you desperately press your mouth to his.

His hands drop to your hips, pulling you in closer. As his mouth opens, imparting a strong flavor of mint bubblegum into yours, you melt into him. Your arms hook around his neck, pulling him as close as you possibly can, and against your skin, you feel the sweet puff of Lohen’s breath.

When you pull away, you’re nearly light-headed. Hot-faced and panting, you stare into his eyes as you try to collect your thoughts. He smiles at you, one corner of his lips pushed up higher than the other, and looks back down at your mouth.

You kiss him again. Something hard presses into your hip.

“Mm, sorry,” Lohen says, lips parting from yours with a soft, wet sound. “Let me put my gun down.”

“Oh,” you say. “Okay.”

He pulls at the left side of his coat, and the gleam of the ochre lights against his silver revolver shines straight into your eyes. Casually, Lohen pulls the gun from his waistband, where it had been tucked between his shirt and his pants. Like it’s just a pair of keys, he twirls it around his finger and says, “Let me put this in the living room real quick.”

You’ve gone stiffer than a board. Lohen’s eyes widen. He looks at the pistol in his hand, then at you, before a smile stretches across his face.

“Bun,” he says, his tone light and teasing. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of guns?”

“I…I’ve never…” Your words are coming out stilted, awkward. Your gaze remains fixed on the silver revolver, how it glows in the lamplight, how Lohen’s left hand holds it so loose and casually. “I’ve never actually seen a real gun. Isn’t it a bit dangerous to…to play with it like that?”

“Pft.” He twirls the gun again, and you flinch. “There’s nothing scary about guns, Bun. First of all, the safety’s on. See?”

When Lohen lifts the gun to his head, pressing the barrel to his temple, a cry so desperate escapes you that you don’t even recognize it to be yourself. The panic that consumes you makes every inch of your skin tingle, your mind conjuring an image of death and blood and violence. If he’s gone, if he does this, then who will pull you out of the chaos?

You immediately grab his wrist, tearing his arm away from himself. In an anguished snarl, you scream, “Don’t do that!”

You snatch the gun from his hand, cold and metallic between your fingers, and slam it onto the entryway console. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, your heart pounds like you’re being pursued by a wild animal, and as you throw your arms around Lohen’s shoulders, you cry, “Don’t you ever fucking do that in front me again! That’s not funny, Lohen!”

Your breath is picking up, gasping and shaking. Your fingers curl into his hair, squeezing so tight, you know it must hurt him. Squeezing your eyes shut, you grit your teeth, trying to maintain a sense of control over your spiraling emotions. Lohen’s body is stiff against yours, and as your choked sobs fill the silence, he stands with his arms bent at his sides.

Eventually, he hugs you. When he brings you into his warm embrace, you dig your teeth into your lower lip.

“Don’t do that,” you croak. “I don’t care if it’s just a joke. I don’t want you to do that.”

“...Sorry,” he replies. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I don’t,” you gasp, your throat clenching like you’ve got a choker around it, “I don’t want to lose you.”

Lohen doesn’t answer. After a pause, his arms tighten even further around you.

“Please, Lohen,” you whimper, sniffling. “Tell me you’ll never do that again.”

“I…sorry,” he answers, pressing his lips to your face. “I’m sorry, Bun. I won’t do it again.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, heaving for breath as your lungs cry out in pain. “That scared me so much.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispers, his hand stroking your back up and down. “I’m sorry, pretty girl. Please don’t cry.”

“You can’t put a fucking gun to your head,” you sputter, “and then tell me not to cry!”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I didn’t realize it would freak you out.”

“Lohen, use some common sense, please! Of all the people in the world to do that around, don’t do it around me!”

Silence falls between you. Your intense panic dwindles the longer that Lohen holds you, and when you finally catch your breath, Lohen’s lips press to yours.

He’s chaste. You fling yourself at him, making him stumble from the force of your kiss. The taste of salt and mint, you and him—it’s a morose marriage, but it floods you with comfort.

Is this what love feels like?

“I’m sorry,” he says when your lips part. “I’ve been using guns since I was a kid, so…they don’t scare me.”

You stare after his lips, your eyes blurry. “Why have you been using guns since you were a kid?”

“My parents,” he answers, rubbing your back as he does. “I guess I haven’t really mentioned them much to you…but they’re gunsmiths. Well, they started with bows and arrows, but now they mainly model custom firearms. I went hunting with my dad a lot when I was a kid, so…guns don’t really scare me.”

Your eyes shift to the earring hanging from his left lobe. Touching your fingers to the cool metal, you ask, “Is that how you got this?”

Something flickers across his eyes. Quickly, he smiles, and the look dissipates.

“That’s not important right now. Do you feel better?”

You sniffle. Eventually, you nod.

“Okay.” He kisses your forehead. “Wanna shower?”

You laugh, closing your sore eyes. “You really like seeing me naked, huh?”

He smirks. “Just trying to save some water. Seeing you naked just happens to be a really nice bonus.”

Ah, you love it when he holds you in his arms and talks to you like this. You feel his affections, let them fill your aching heart, and give him nothing in return.

Your smile falls. Lohen makes an inquisitive sound.

“You don’t want to?” he asks unsurely.

You should smile. It’s what he would want you to do.

“I do,” you say, the corners of your lips rising. “No, Lohen, I…I do.”

You’re staring at the shower tile as condensation beads on the surface. Tiny drops roll down the smooth grey walls, merging with bigger ones until they burst into thin streams. As your hands press into the hot tile, you feel Lohen behind you.

“...You sure?” he asks.

You’re tired of giving him nothing. How can you continue to insult him like this, when he always does his best to give you everything? He lavishes you with love and care, and the best you can do for him is help him cum.

Even then, are you any good at it? Even then, are you giving him what he wants?

You purse your lips, swallowing back your trepidation. When his lips kiss your temple, wet hands grasping your hips all the while, you relax. Eventually, you nod at him.

He’s slow about it. Gentle. When his hips meet yours, your breath quivers into steam.

“Oh, man,” Lohen says breathily. “That feels good.”

You look down, seeing the tip of his cock nestled between your thighs. When he draws his hips back, pulling his length across your wet cunt, you let out a small, stifled moan. Lohen slowly thrusts forward, the veins of his dick caressing your inner folds, and when he lifts his palms to your breasts, you lean your head back and whimper.

“Bun,” Lohen whispers. “You wanna kiss?”

You’re nodding, and then his mouth is on yours. Shower water pelts at the walls around you, Lohen’s back shielding you entirely from the spray of it. As his hot mouth opens to yours, he slowly rubs his dick between your thighs, his precum and your own wetness minimizing the friction between you. Lohen’s hands grope at your chest, firm, but not painful, and when you moan, you feel him laugh against you.

“Feels good?” he asks, his voice cocky—incendiary.

“Yes,” you answer, your voice high-pitched and strained. “Really good.”

He laughs, his cheeks flushed pink. Whether it’s from the temperature of the shower or the cadence of your words, you suppose you’ll never know.

One of his hands lowers to your hip, his arm crossing over your stomach. With that arm, he squeezes you to his torso, pressing hot kisses to the side of your face as he massages your soapy tit. The way you slip between his fingers, how the texture of his palm presses into the hardness of your nipple, it all has you feeling like the shower’s stiflingly hot. You’re burning under Lohen’s touch, but you love every second of it.

“Fuck,” Lohen pants, his hips moving a touch harder against your own. “You feel really good, Bun. Shit, I might…I might cum.”

You’re nowhere near that point yourself, but you don’t tell him that. You want him to feel at ease with you, not like he has to bend over backwards trying to satisfy you in turn. It’s only right.

It’s what he paid for.

“Bun,” Lohen whines, his hands grasping you harder. “I want you to cum, too.”

Your eyes widen.

“I’ll slow down,” he says, his breath shuddering by your ear. “Will that help?”

Your eyes bud with tears. Nodding, you croak, “Yeah.”

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he whispers, kissing you as he slows the draw of his hips, keeping the pressure of his stimulation without pushing himself past his own breaking point. “I love everything about you.”

“Lohen,” you bawl.

“I’m right here,” he murmurs. His dick rubs, rubs, rubs. “I’ve got you, Bun. I’ll always be right here.”

“I—,” you sputter, your eyes rolling backwards. As your cunt twitches and throbs, you mewl, “I’m cumming, Lohen.”

“Yeah?” he answers, low and rough. “You’re cumming for me, pretty girl?”

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, your neck arching backwards, nails scratching against the hot tile. Your cunt spasms, you’re seeing stars, and all you can manage to slur out is, “Lohen, fuck.”

“Me too,” he says with a groan. “I’m cumming for you, Bun.”

For you. He’s doing it for you.

“I—,” you gasp, blinking tears from your eyes. “I…”

You’re trying to say it. You’re trying harder than you’ve tried at anything in your whole life. Harder than that cabaret job, harder than that damn degree, harder than your very first breaths. It feels like trying to force a drop of honey out of an empty bottle, a hollow vessel that’s known nothing but the remnants of that saccharine sugar for so long.

Lohen turns your mouth to his. He eats away the words you can’t say, and with a firm slap of his hips to yours, shoots streaks of cum across the shower tile.

He did it for you. Everything he’s done, up until this point—he’s done it for you.

“Stay with me,” you sob between kisses. “Please don’t leave me.”

His breath hitches. Shaking his head at you, he smiles with those soft red eyes of his, and in the most charming voice you’ve ever heard, he says, “Don’t worry, Bun. I’m not going anywhere.”

He slips out when you’re asleep. Heads to his living room and practically collapses onto the couch. Hand held over his chest, Lohen feels the rapid beat of his heart.

Those eyes you gave him, when he pointed that gun at his head—they’ve been running through his mind on repeat. Wide and fearful, full of affection. Not a fear of him, but a fear of losing him.

“Stay with me,” you had said, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Please don’t leave me.”

He lifts his hands to his face. He’s smiling, and he can’t stop it.

“She loves me,” he whispers to himself. “She can’t say it, but she loves me.”

Why would he ever doubt your love—your undying affections? How could he be so blind to something that’s been right in front of him this whole time?

Why does he still want to hear you say it?

“We’re making progress,” he says. “She’s just scared. I should be patient.”

But he still wants to hear you say it. He’s done nothing but show you his love, shower you with his protection, cut down anyone who even dares to look at you wrong, and you still can’t say it.

It doesn’t matter, does it? He’s protecting you. That’s all that man wanted him to do. He should be satisfied, but he still wants you to say it.

He doesn’t want to panic. Even if you’re asleep, you might hear him. If you were to walk in on him, struggling for breath with tears running down his face, you’d think he’s weak, like you. No, he can’t show you this side of himself. If you knew the truth, knew how feeble he was on the inside, you wouldn’t love him anymore.

She never says it, so for all you know, she doesn’t even love you now.

He doesn’t know what to do. His jaw moves around a wad of bubblegum, grinding it flat between his teeth, but Adorno doesn’t tell him what to do. Where is the memory he needs? Why isn’t it coming to him, when all the other ones flood into his mind right before the bloodlust strikes?

Bloodlust. His fingers ache to strangle the life from someone, anyone who might dare to hurt you. He’ll point that revolver at their temple, scatter their brains across the floor, and feel the glory of knowing he’s protected you. What a knight does out of his lady’s watchful eye is none of her concern. All she needs to know is that his undying fealty is to her, her, her, her, her—.

“Lohen?”

He freezes. When he turns his head, you’re standing in the hallway, your fist rubbing under your eye.

“Can you come back?” you ask, your voice small.

The panic settles. Nodding at you, he whispers, “Of course.”

He crosses the room, kisses your forehead, and guides you right back to bed. You nestle yourself into him, place your arms around him, and hold him so tight, he knows you want him to stay.

“Please don’t leave,” you whisper.

He exhales a shuddering breath.

“My bad, Princess. Won’t happen again.”

Once your eyes close and your breathing slows, Lohen places his hand along your cheek. He strokes your face, pursing his lips together.

Your desperation is not something that should amuse him. He shouldn’t be entertained by the way you cling to him.

He shouldn’t be, but in spite of it all, he can’t restrain the giggle that seeps into the darkness.

NEXT CHAPTER -> if you made it this far, thank you! i hope you enjoyed! this is one of my favorite chapters so far in this series, and I plan to post Chapter 6 on 8/5! c: masterlist | fic masterlist

Wait, are you Lohen’s girlfriend? You two never really discussed labels. The only thing you know for sure is that you like him, and he likes you back. When he says he loves you, you know it’s a sweet nothing. At least, you think it is.

The fast click of Rosaria’s heels grabs your attention. She’s scribbling on her clipboard, nursing that cigarette between her teeth as she says, “Bunny. Turnover.”

“Huh? But my guest’s in the bathroom.”

“Doesn’t matter. Deaconess’ll tell him you had to go or something.”

“Isn’t that kinda…? Rude.”

Your voice falls to a mumble. Rosaria’s already gone. Your bubbly coworker takes her place, beaming at you like the angel she is.

“No worries, Bunny!” she exclaims, bright and cheery as always. “I’ll take it from here!”

You work with a strange group of girls, but Barbara’s probably one of the strangest. Instead of the thigh-exposing, cleavage-pushing suits that the rest of you wear, Barbara’s bunny outfit consists of a chaste blouse and modest shorts. She’s one of those Barbatos followers, and she claims that the only reason she works the job in the first place is to “save more sinners”. Whatever that means. Of all the places to do missionary work, a cabaret club doesn’t seem too ideal to you, but Barbara’s popularity speaks for itself.

You switch places with Deaconess, rubbing the back of your neck. “Which table did you come from?”

“Thirty-one!”

“Oh.”

Your hand curls around your wrist. You chance a glance Lohen’s way, seeing Mona do all sorts of gesticulations around her prized crystal ball—scry glass!—as Lohen watches with an uninterested look. Maybe he notices that you’ve moved, because not long after your eyes land on him, his land on yours.

One corner of his mouth pushes up as he leans into his palm. With a slight nudge of his head, you understand what he’s asking.

You smile back and sordidly shake your head. You’re too far to hear him, but you can see Lohen’s shoulders deflate with a huge sigh.

Unwillingly, but responsibly, you turn your back to him once again. Table 31’s an unfortunate one: it’s the first of the remaining ten tucked around the corner of the club on the subfloor. There’s a tiny hallway separating the two, surrounded by slate grey walls. You won’t be able to see Lohen for a while.

“Oh well,” you sigh. It’s not like work and play are meant to be synonymous. You continue on your way, as you’re paid by the hour to do.

The man at Table 31 looks exhausted. He’s resting against the booth with his neck extended backwards, face to the sky and booze to his chest. You note the salt-and-pepper hair, wrinkles under his eyes, and the thick brown briefcase resting at his foot. Must be a salaryman.

“Hi, dear guest,” you say, putting on that hostess smile you’ve worked so hard on. “I’m Bunny. What’s your name?”

When the man rolls his head back into place, his eyes widen. His face is red from one ear to the other, probably from all those empty glasses of champagne lining the end of the table.

“Well, aren’t you pretty? Certainly showing more skin than the other one.” He scoots over, pats the seat next to him, and says, “I’m Tohler.”

You know this job well enough to know that this man smells like trouble.

“Ah, don’t look at me like that.” He winces. “I just wanna talk to a pretty girl about my shitty day. You’ll listen to an old man, won’t you?”

You want to tell him you’re Lohen’s pretty girl, but you hold your tongue. Cautiously sitting next to him, you tuck your legs in as tightly as possible to maximize the distance between you. Tohler’s probably too drunk to realize that he’s manspreading seventy percent of the seat away. Or he just doesn’t care.

“Want a drink?” he asks.

“No, I’m—um. That would be nice, yes.”

“What do you like?”

“Champagne,” you say automatically.

“Then a glass of champagne it is. Hey, buddy! Get another for the lady, would ya?”

You wince when he raises his glass and barks at Mika like he’s a dog. Shooting your coworker an apologetic glance, you quickly turn your attention to the empty glasses. One, two, three, four, five…

The club champagne’s not the best, but overconsumption is overconsumption, no matter how weak the elixir. Of course you don’t know this man and his tolerance, but you’re no amateur at gauging how drunk your customers are. “You must have had a long day.”

“Long as fuck,” he concurs. “Shitty boss making me work overtime again. My shift’s supposed to end at three. Wanna guess what time I got off?”

“Eight…?”

“That’s right! Eight o’clock! I mean, really, who does that guy think he is?!”

Tohler takes a hearty swig of his champagne. When Mika returns to the table, he mouths, Rosaria?

You quickly nod. Something about this man knots your gut, and you don’t like it. Mika hurriedly departs with the empty glasses, and you try to remain calm. You’ve been taught how to identify potentially troublesome situations, and how to elegantly avoid them all the same.

“Um.” You can’t help your awkward stammer. “Sorry, guest, but I, um. I have to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

Before you can shuffle out of the booth, the man’s hand clamps down around your thigh.

“You runnin’ away from me—hic—pretty girl?”

Chills prick at the skin of your arms. Your body won’t move. Why won’t your body move?

“You’re just playing hard to get, aren’t ya? Huh, pretty girl?”

He squeezes you. Your hand flies to your mouth, a cold sweat breaking across your forehead as you’re gripped with nausea. You see calloused hands, you feel fists in your hair, hot tears streak your cheeks, but there are dollar bills in your cleavage—.

“You do not touch my girls that way!”

Rosaria’s voice rips through the air. She all but yanks you out of the man’s grasp, holding you to her chest like a lioness guarding her cub. You fall against her like you’re made of paper, your jaw hanging agape.

“We operate on a strict no-touching policy!” Rosaria barks, her voice full of fire. “If you can’t follow those simple rules, then get the fuck out of my club!”

For as icy as Rosaria is, as cold as she is about metrics and money and running a business, she fights harder for you and the girls than anyone you’ve ever met. You don’t realize you’re trembling in her arms until she rushes you to the main floor, practically carrying your weight as she leads you to the break room. You pass Tables 1 thru 30 in plain sight, and when you turn to meet those eyes of Lohen’s, they’re wider than saucers.

They don’t blink. They don’t waver. They’re a red-blue sea of catastrophe.

You gag, cupping your mouth again. Rosaria sits you down and brings you a bag, which you promptly vomit into.

She pulls your hair out of your face. As you eject the contents of your stomach, your manager remains at your side, shushing you when you start to cry.

“Hey, you’re okay,” she whispers, lifting a rag to your mouth. “It’s not your fault.”

“I couldn’t move,” you wail, hot tears rushing down your cheeks. “I don’t know why I couldn’t move.”

“It’s okay,” Rosaria repeats, firmer this time. “It’s not your fault, Bunny.”

Your ice cold manager, who hates physical affection with every fiber of her being, wraps her arm around your shoulders and brings you into a much-needed hug. You bawl against her, clinging to her like a younger child to her older sister.

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I messed up. I know you’re trying to run a business.”

“Hey,” Rosaria says sharply. “Don’t even think about that right now. Nothing that happened out there is your fault. It never was.” Her voice lowers. “It never will be.”

She pauses.

“Just…know that it’s never your fault. Okay?”

You nod. Nose stuffed with thick, wet snot, your voice comes out pitiful. “Okay.”

“Here. Tissue.”

“Thanks.”

You blow your nose, and once your breathing slows, Rosaria releases you. She stands with her back to you, her eyes focused into the distance. You stare at her reflection in the vanity mirror, and you watch as the light cast upon her flickers. Her hands are curled into fists at her sides.

You sniffle, rubbing your puffy red eyes. “Sorry. I’ll get back out there—.”

“Take a break,” Rosaria says. “If you don’t feel like you can work the rest of your shift, that’s fine too. Just take care of yourself, Bunny.”

With that, the dull thud of her heels leads to the door. You’re left in the stuffy breakroom by yourself, alone with your thoughts, and no one to tell you what to do.

It’s 9 PM at the cabaret club, and Lohen’s bored out of his mind.

“I gotta shit,” he drawls.

“Hold it!” Mona snaps, her hands levitating around her glass ball, eyes focused intently on it. “You just went!”

“I’ve got the runs,” he argues.

“You are not leaving until I finish this divination! I’m so close to completing it!”

Lohen groans. Disinterested, he leans against his palm, staring longingly after the bar. What he really wants is to have some more fun with those drinks while Mika’s turned around. If he can’t sit with you, then he’s gotta find something to entertain himself.

Right when that thought crosses his mind, a man he’s seen three times prior goes striding past again, his face red. Lohen smirks at the toilet paper stuck to his shoe.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing that turnover thing?” he asks the woman across from him.

“Silence!” Mona barks. “The image is too murky for me to swiftly interpret it. If you would stay put and keep your mouth shut, this wouldn’t be as difficult!”

“Why do you even care so much? Go divine someone else’s fate.”

“Your fate is unique,” Mona says with a squint. “I’ve never struggled with a divination like this before. Consider me intrigued.”

To Lohen, Mona’s “divination” just looks like a crazy woman using ornate words and waving her hands around a flashy glass ball. He reaches out to tap a finger against it and Mona smacks his hand away.

“Do not touch the scry glass!”

“For a murky glass it looks pretty clear to me,” he says. “Can you go now?”

“You ungrateful plebian. The answer is no.”

He sighs. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls his phone out, drafting a message to Theodore.

[Lohen] I’m being held hostage by a psycho. Anything interesting going on?

[Theodore] A psycho??? Thought you said you were going to see your girlfriend

[Lohen] It’s a long story. Any bait takers or what?

[Theodore] Not this time. I’m busy responding to a call at Goth Grand. Double homicide. Already dead when me and the guys got here.

Lohen’s brows raise for a moment. Goth Grand’s one of the longest standing hotels in Mond history, yet no one he knows has ever claimed to have stayed there. It’s an old Victorian building surrounded by glitzy pavements and guarded by Snezhian security officers 24/7. Certainly not the kind of place where one would expect a double homicide.

Now that’s entertainment. If he wasn’t waiting to hang out with you, he’d interject himself into that situation in a heartbeat.

[Lohen] Who’s investigating?

[Theodore] Varka and a few rookies. You guys must be short tonight.

[Lohen] We’re short every night.

[Theodore] Same man.

[Theodore] You coming?

Lohen glances at Mona, whose face is just inches away from her “scry glass”. He still wants to see Bunny, so he texts back: Nah.

“You do not touch my girls that way!”

The walls of the club seem to shake when a woman’s voice cuts over the music. Lohen tries to find the source of the commotion, but as far as he can tell, whoever’s yelling must not be on the main floor. Even Mona stops her crazy pseudoscience, her head turned to the wall beside her.

“Miss Rosaria?” she asks.

“If you can’t follow those simple rules, then get the fuck out of my club!”

That’s Rosaria alright. And by the sounds of it, she’s pissed. Pissed about someone who touched one of her girls.

Lohen has a bad feeling brewing in his gut before he even makes eye contact with you.

Your eyes are glistening with big fat tears, wet streaks rolling down your cheeks. Your eyes widen when they land on his, and before he can mentally process what’s going on, Rosaria’s escorting you straight into the breakroom. Your eyes part, your body disappears behind the grand red door, and Lohen’s searing.

Before Mona turns from the wall, he fixes his expression. The cogs in his brain turn quickly, sharply.

Raising his phone to his face, he stares at Theodore’s message and groans.

“Terrible fucking timing. Sorry, Fortune Girl, but I gotta go.”

“What? But your divination—!”

“Homicide investigations can’t wait for your fuckin’ fortune telling.” He stands from the booth, the edges of his vision turning red. “Do me a favor and tell Bun I’m sorry. I’ll buy her that drink I owe her later.”

“...Fine,” Mona says. “I suppose duty calls. But I still expect you to sit for a divination the next time we meet!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he says, his feet marching against the laminate floor. “Next time.”

At the front of the club, Lohen veers left. A small corridor connects the main floor to the subfloor. About fifteen feet long, ten feet wide. As his feet stomp into the floor, his blood simmers with ice-cold fury.

And yet, there’s a perverse undertone of joy.

“Sir,” he hears as he rounds the corner, “you have to leave—.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. My bad. But can’t I finish this first? I mean, you only just brought it to me.”

Mika looks uncomfortable, white-knuckles clutching his serving platter to his torso. Compliantly, weakly, he gives the guest a nod. Mika’s shorter and smaller, and in this scenario, he’s most definitely weaker.

He makes Lohen sick.

“You’re a good kid,” the man says, salt-and-pepper hair, wrinkles under his eyes. “Promise I’ll leave as soon as I’m done.”

One exit at the subfloor. One at the bar. Ten foot fence around the back. He can scale it, easy. No eyes, no witnesses, no mercy.

He only needs ten minutes.

It’s 9:38 PM, and before you can fully regain a sense of calm, you hear a commotion through the breakroom door.

“I said I’m not fuckin’ leaving! Not until I finish my fuckin’ drink!”

Glass shatters. Someone gasps, and you hear someone else cry, “Call the police!”

Your breath hitches. Scrambling to the door, you burst through it to see a crowd of patrons and employees alike stuffing the hallway to the subfloor. When another person yells to call the cops, your head turns to Table 5, looking for Lohen.

He’s gone.

You push through the throng of people, elbowing your way back to Table 31 as your heart hammers in your ears. Tohler sneers with a glass of champagne in hand, Rosaria standing before him with a fierce scowl, Mika cowering behind her.

“Finish it then!” Rosaria snarls. “You don’t have much left, you dumb fuck!”

“Fuckin’ bitch!”

The man is belligerent, and under the chandelier lights, you see how dilated his pupils are. He tips his champagne glass upside down, and as it runs from his glass into his mouth, his throat bobs with a paltry swallow.

Rosaria’s nose furls. “Leave.”

“Tch! Booze tastes like shit anyway!”

“Hey—!”

Rosaria is interrupted by a sharp gasp. In an instant, it feels as though the flow of air around you comes to a stifling standstill.

Tohler grabs his chest, sucking air through his mouth with a cacophonous, grating sound. His dilated eyes go from looking forward to rolling backwards, red blood vessels bleeding into his white sclera. Every muscle in his body visibly tenses, bulging against the confines of his skin as his face takes on an ungodly shade of red. With another stomach-churning, seal-like noise, he falls forward.

Crash!

Champagne glasses shatter under his face, glass shards drawing blood across the white-topped table. The muscles fighting against him stagger, catch, then start violently shaking like a tectonic slip. Spit bubbles foam in his mouth, blood drips onto the floor, and in the next instant, your ears are consumed by the screams of those around you.

It’s 9:48 PM at the cabaret club and the place is both shockingly empty and alarmingly full at the same time. Red and blue lights flash in through the windows, a series of police, fire, and ambulance vehicles surrounding the building. You’re sitting at Table 5, where Lohen had been earlier that night, your eyes fixed to the smooth surface of the table. Your hand repeatedly strokes over the seat of the booth, like you might be able to feel his residual warmth if you try hard enough. Rosaria sits at your side, her arms crossed over her chest.

Mona told you that Lohen had a work emergency. That he left a little after 9, something about a homicide call. That he’s sorry, and he’ll be back for “your drink” as soon as he possibly can be.

You hear the crunch of the seat across from you. When you look up, a blonde-haired woman in a sharp blue suit is sitting there.

“Hi, Bunny,” she says, extending her hand your way. “I’m Sergeant Jean. My sister, Barbara, has told me a little bit about you, but we’ve never met. I’m sorry we’re meeting for the first time under these circumstances.”

You shake Jean’s hand, your fingers numb. She looks like Barbara alright, with her soft face that could put anyone at ease, but she carries herself with a distinct level of poise. She’s no amateur, and you’d be remiss to think that.

She inclines her head at Rosaria, no introduction spoken. When Jean looks at you, you tremble.

You’re nervous, you’re scared, and more than anything, you want Lohen to hold you.

“I just have a few questions,” Jean says. “Very informal. You’re not being interrogated or anything.”

It slips out in a whisper. “Okay.”

“I know you’ve been through a lot tonight,” Jean says softly. “I’m only questioning you because you’re one of the last people to have seen Tohler before his passing. Please don’t think you’re in any kind of trouble.”

You have rocks in your throat that sting when you swallow. “Okay.”

“I just want to know what you’ve seen and heard. Anything and everything is helpful, no matter how small it may seem.”

Your brows furrow. “...Okay.”

“Is that alright?” Jean asks.

You wring your hands under the table and nod.

It’s 10:48 PM when Lohen’s phone rings with your name on it.

He glances at Varka. “I’ve gotta take this.”

“Sure,” Varka replies, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think we’ll be able to handle the rest of this one ourselves, Lohen. I appreciate all your help, though.”

“No prob, Chief.”

He turns the corner, stepping under yellow police tape and past a pair of paramedics getting interviewed by the rookies. He meets Theodore’s eye for a moment before silently brushing past.

“Hey,” he says into the receiver, “I’m so sorry, Bun—I got a homicide call. I’m on my way right now. Are you okay?”

His car keys jingle as he withdraws them from his pocket. You take a breath in, your voice shuddering against his ear.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he says, dropping into his black coupe. “You wanna talk to me while I drive?”

Your voice shakes again. When he powers his car on, your voice outputs from the speakers.

“Yeah,” you say. “Please.”

He gets chills. Digging his teeth into his lower lip, he tries to push that thrill aside.

“Talk to me then, pretty girl. What happened?”

He waits with bated breath. As he drives through the nighttime city, alive with cars as always, he hits a red light and listens to the sound of your breath. It surrounds him, soft and shaky, and his skin prickles at the feel of it.

He looks at himself in the rearview mirror. An ear-to-ear, toothy grin sits on his blushing face.

Quickly, he straightens his lips out.

“...I’ll tell you when you get here,” you say eventually. “Also, a…somebody…a man…”

“What?”

“I…I guess I can tell you about that when you get here too. Sorry, I…I guess I don’t really want to talk after all.”

He swallows. “Want me to hang up?”

“No,” you answer immediately. “No, please don’t. I want you to stay with me.”

Fuck, he thinks, teeth gnawing his lip. He loves it when you talk to him like you need him. He needs to hear you say it to his face with your trembling lips and your cute little whimpers, needs to feel your body shake in his arms like the leaf you are. He’ll hold you up. He’ll be the branch you belong to. He’ll lend you the nutrients, stretch you towards the sun, and hold onto you so tight, you’ll never fall away from him.

You sniffle. Lohen swallows hard, fingers clamped around the steering wheel.

“I’m right here, Bun.”

You respond with your quivering breath. “Thank you.”

Lohen brings you home.

“Shh, shh…”

Your fingers curl into the back of his shirt, pulling the fabric taut as you cry. Lohen provides solid comfort, stroking your hair and rocking you gently as he holds you in his arms. You bury your face into his pine-scented neck and he presses his lips to your temple.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You inhale a trembling breath. In a mumble, you say, “Thank you.”

He holds you for what feels like ages, rubbing your back and whispering sweet affirmations into your ear all the while. You melt into him, letting him support your weight as you allow your muscles to fall slack. It feels good to be held like this—to be supported. You wish he’d hold you forever, so you wouldn’t have to bear the brunt of your calamitous mind alone anymore.

Lohen’s voice is soft. “You wanna tell me about it?”

You nod. Swallowing, you say, “Someone touched me.”

You feel him stiffen. “Where?”

“My…thigh,” you mumble. “It’s not the worst place I’ve been groped at, but…”

“You shouldn’t be groped at anywhere,” he growls. “Who the fuck is this guy?”

He doesn’t say, “I’ll kill him.” 

“He had a seizure at the club,” you say quietly. “He…died.”

Lohen’s quiet. He reassures his grip on you, but the silence continues. You lift your head from his damp skin, hesitant at first, but you force yourself to catch his eyes. You expected to see that hardened expression from earlier, but instead, you see a sad pair of red-blue irises. His lashes blink slowly over his eyes, long and curled, bathed in the soft lamplight that envelops his condo.

“For hurting you,” Lohen says slowly, “he deserved it.”

Another tear rolls down your cheek. Lohen lifts his hand to your face, brushing it away with his thumb. As he watches you with those woeful eyes, you can’t hold back your petulant sob.

“Shh,” he whispers, pulling you close once again. “Don’t cry, pretty girl. I’m here.”

You nod, welding yourself back into the skin of his neck, and when he kisses you once more, you feel so, terribly, weak.

By the time your tears are dry, you almost drift off to sleep where you stand.

“Bun,” Lohen says. “You tired?”

You blink your heavy eyelids. Face still pinned to his neck, you nod.

“You can sleep in my bed if you want. I’ll carry you.” He pauses. “You…wanna shower first?”

You smooth your palms against his shoulder blades. “Will you shower with me?”

“Huh? Oh, um. I-I mean, if that’s what you want, then, uh…”

You look at him. He’s red in the face, babbling like you haven’t gone further with each other. You smile.

“Please?”

He laughs.

“...Sure, Bunny.”

“Can you help me?”

You turn to the shower, showing him your back. As the seconds tick by, you remain standing under the fluorescent lights, waiting.

You turn your head. Lohen jumps in the corner of your vision.

“Sure,” he blurts out immediately.

You feel the warmth of his body as he approaches. The knuckle of his index finger brushes against your back when he grasps the zipper holding your suit together. He touches it, but he doesn’t pull it down.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing. I just, uh…was thinking.” Lohen hesitates. “I’ve…never seen you fully naked. With the lights on and everything.”

His words hang in the air by your ears. Lifting your hand to your mouth, you stifle your giggle.

“There’s a first time for everything,” you tell him warmly.

“O-okay.” He groans. “Fuck, I feel lame.”

“You’re not lame.”

“...You’re okay with me doing this?” His breath ghosts across your skin. “You mean it?”

“Of course. I trust you, Lohen.”

“Hm.” His knuckles softly stroke your back. “Okay then. Since you asked.”

When he unzips you, goosebumps prick at your arms. You blame it on the cold. When the leotard falls to your ankles, you step back and nudge it aside with your foot.

You can practically hear Lohen’s struggle. His hands hover in the air by your hips when he asks, “Want me to…keep going?”

You nod. Lohen’s fingers, which have touched you in far more intimate ways before, tremble as they slide under your stockings. The garment follows the movement of his fingers, bringing both your hosiery and g-string down the length of your legs. Once again, you step out of the clothing he’s taken off of you, and standing before him like this, you feel renewed.

You’re smiling when you turn around to face him. As expected, his face is a cardinal shade of red, and his eyes don’t dare stray from yours. You like that he doesn’t look you up and down, that he always asks before doing things. You like that he makes you feel pure.

That you know you can always rely on him.

“You’re gonna shower with me, right?” you ask. “You have to take your clothes off first.”

His throat bobs with a swallow. You watch his hands as they lift to his buttons, his eyes closed as he undoes them one by one.

When he’s fully unbuttoned, you place your hands along the edges of his shirt. You peel it away from his skin, and he lets you work it off his arms. Your hands move to his belt, and you exchange a glance with him.

Lohen doesn’t say anything. His chest expands with quiet, rapid breaths.

The leather of his belt slides between your fingers. The metal clasp jingles when it falls to the floor.

“S-stop,” he stammers softly, his hand curling around your wrist. “Sorry, I—. Fuck, I’m so embarrassed.”

You take a step forward. Coming so close that your bare chest presses into his, you rest your palms on his hips and kiss him.

You observe his face when you pull away. Lohen’s shoulders rise and fall faster, his fingers curling around your forearms. Before he can say anything, you kiss him again.

Your hands slip under the waistband of his trousers. You push closer, your nipples rubbing against his, and feel him moan against you. You’re not ignorant to that hardness poking into your thigh, nor are you a stranger to his needs.

Your leg raises slightly, giving him pressure. Lohen’s eyes fly shut, a hot pant falling from his lips. His hips lightly rub forward.

“Want to touch me?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice rough. “Fuck, I wanna touch you all over, Bunny.”

“That’s okay. You can touch me if you want.”

His cold hands curl around your waist. Pressing his forehead to yours, he gives you an eager nod.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, rutting against your thigh. “Just like a princess.”

A pleased warmth rises to your cheeks. You smile, slotting your nose against his.

“Stay with me,” he breathes, fingers digging into your ass. “Please.”

With a soft laugh, you nod. “Don’t worry, Lohen. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Bunny,” he breathes against you, stiff and throbbing, up and down your thigh. “You mean so much to me.”

You kiss him. Your fingers run along the smoothness of his face, one thumb brushing the mole under his eye while the other plays with the arrowhead dangling from his left ear. You’ll have to remember to ask him what that’s about next time—if it’s sentimental to him. You never see him without it.

Lohen moans against you, his hands stroking you from your ass to your thighs, touching you so sweet, so desperately. He frots against you like he’s never done it before, messy and disjointed, but filled with so much passion that it hardly bothers you. You like being able to sense his needs, and having the means to take care of them. Especially when you know he takes such good care of you.

“Bun,” he whispers, high-pitched and strained. “I’m gonna cum.”

When he touches you like this, speaks to you like this, you can forget how that man’s fingers wrapped around you. You can forget how he seized.

A tear is running down your face. Before Lohen can see it, he tucks his chin over your shoulder, grasping your hair lightly in his fist. With a soft whimper, he cums.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Behind his back, you lift your trembling hand to your face. You try to suppress it, but you can’t help the sob that escapes you.

Lohen quickly withdraws from you, blinking rapidly. He cups your face in his hands, shakes his head, and whispers, “Hey, hey. It’s okay, Bun. You don’t…you don’t have to say anything back.”

His love rubs away the touches placed upon you against your will. Of course you want to reciprocate it. But in the back of your mind, you can’t forget how he seized.

“Shh,” Lohen says, pressing a kiss to your mouth. “It’s alright, pretty girl. I’m sorry.”

You don’t want him to be sorry for loving you.

“Hey, let’s get cleaned up,” he murmurs. “Would that make you feel better?”

“Yeah,” you whimper.

“Then we’ll do that.”

His smile is irresistibly charming, like that of a prince from an old, forgotten fairytale. He’s beautiful, he’s kind, he's strong, and he loves you.

At least, he says he does.

“Come on, Bun,” he purrs. “I’ll wash your back for you. You’ll feel better.”

You continue to cry in silence, but you nod. After all, you believe him.

In the darkness of Lohen’s bedroom, you lay in an entangled heap of arms and legs. You tell him you don’t want his arm going numb, being stuck under your pillow like it is, but he tells you he likes how it feels.

“The numbness?” you ask with a smile. “Or your arm being under my head?”

“Mm, both,” he mumbles. He curls his knees further into the back of yours, nuzzling his face against you all the while. “This okay? Comfortable?”

He’s got you entirely locked in his arms, one of his legs poking through yours too. With a soft laugh, you nod your head.

“Okay. Good.” He squeezes you tighter. “I love you, Bun.”

Your lips part. Words should come out, but they don’t.

“Goodnight,” Lohen says.

You close your eyes.

“Goodnight.”

You are haunted by dreams of death and violence. Bubbles of drool, streaks of blood against a white-topped table, blood running down your face, your stomach, your thighs, suffocating you, choking you, making you seize.

And yet, at the end of it all, Lohen’s bloodied hand descends through the madness. He smiles with those soft red eyes of his, and your fears dissipate into blurry nothingness. You reach upwards, straining for him, your fingers just barely touching his, and then—.

You’re awake. You’re doused in a cold sweat. And you’re laying in Lohen’s bed alone.

Shivering, you roll over to his vacant side. Tears streaming down your face, you wrap your arms around yourself. You know it’s probably some time past eight in the morning, that he’s likely at the precinct by now, doing his job. You understand that. You have to.

It’s selfish of you, really. But you still wish he was here. He’d know exactly what to say to comfort you.

“For hurting you…he deserved it.”

Lohen tells you, he deserved it.

You trust him more than anything. With him, you don’t have to struggle. With him, you don’t have to fight.

You don’t have to think.

Lohen would tell you to smile.

So with your head rested against his cool, feather pillow, you do.

NEXT CHAPTER -> if you would like to be tagged whenever i post lohen x reader, please check my rules here! thank you! masterlist | fic masterlist

“No. He pled guilty.”

“Huh. That’s good, isn’t it?”

Lohen relaxes back, arms crossed over his chest and one leg crossed over the other. He’s used to this song and dance with Chief Detective Varka—someone tattles and Lohen’s stuck in his office for another futile “talk”. If Lohen didn’t know any better, he’d think that Varka gets off on reprimanding his juniors, but he’s found the older man snoozing at his desk with a flask in hand one too many times for that.

Everyone knows that Varka hates these administrative duties. Either Sergeant Jean got on his case again or someone ratted Lohen out to HR.

“There are concerns that Mr. Scelestus was coerced into pleading guilty. Lines in the interview logs that don’t match up. Footage from the interrogation room that’s conveniently gone missing. And the man showed up to court today with a black eye.”

Lohen lets out an amused scoff. “He’s been in county for weeks. You know as well as I do that most inmates don’t get along with the ones who fuck with kids.”

“I concur. Because of that he’s been in solitary for the last week. Apparently it got so bad that the guards feared for his life.”

The skin between Lohen’s brows dimples. Quiet, he throws his gaze to the honorary plaques decorating Varka’s office.

Protector of the People. Champion of Justice.

Proof of Benevolence.

Lohen sucks his teeth. Tapping his foot impatiently, he states, “So what?”

“Lohen. I know you have strong feelings about how cases like these are treated, but that doesn’t excuse you from trying to act above the law.”

“The law?” Lohen asks, scoffing. “Varka, you know as well as I do that Mond’s law is a set of broken codices. What, you wanted the guy to get a full year of prep for his defense? Another six months for whatever bullshit mistrial’s bound to come up? Even when we all know he did it?”

“The court decides the verdict,” Varka says firmly, “not us. As detectives, our role is to collect objective evidence so that the jury can make an informed decision. We are not judges, Lohen. Having personal feelings isn’t a crime, but we have a duty to set them aside when we seek justice.”

Lohen sneers, his skin crawling with disgust. To think that at one point, he had joined the force out of reverence for Varka. Only for him to meet the man, see his true methods, and become utterly disappointed.

“You think that poor boy’s family wants to sit around waiting for your ‘justice’, Varka?” he hisses. “Letting that fucker waste our taxpayers’ time and money—is that justice? We look the most heinous criminals in the eye every day. If we can tell a culprit’s guilty, we should do whatever it takes to make them plead it.”

Varka’s eyes fall to the surface of his desk. He relinquishes a sigh. After a beat, he reaches into his coat, withdrawing a silver flask.

The sound of Varka unscrewing the cap fills the silence, squeaking like the chair Lohen sits on. Varka holds the flask out towards him, and Lohen rolls his eyes.

“Look,” Varka says, his voice soft. He sets the flask aside. “I’m not trying to make any excuses for Mond’s justice system. I know it’s got deep, glaring flaws. I’m just trying to get you to do the right thing.”

“Tch. The ‘right thing’ is subjective as hell.”

“It might feel that way, but due process exists for a reason.” Varka looks over at his wall of plaques, smiling. “We exist to be upholders of the law, Lohen. We’ve gotta show the bad guys we won’t use their tactics to win. That’s what makes us honorable detectives.”

“Don’t talk to me about honor,” Lohen grumbles. He looks to the clock past Varka’s head, watching the seconds creep farther past eight.

You should be three hours into your shift by now, waiting for him at the cabaret. “Are we done here?”

“Lohen.” Varka’s eyes meet his. “You’ve got a lot of responsibility riding on your shoulders. You’re shooting through the ranks faster than any young buck I’ve ever met. It’s important that you set a good example.”

Lohen’s nails dig into the arms of his coat. Again, he growls, “Are we done?”

“Lohen,” Varka says, the walls warping around him, “don’t you want to make Adorno proud?”

Squeak!

“I’m leaving,” Lohen spits. “You’re wasting my time.”

He doesn’t wait for Varka’s response. Blasting the door open with a brusque shove of his hand, Lohen stomps out into the empty office. He pushes swivel chairs out of his way, kicks trash cans that even dare to be within the proximity of his marching feet. His hands raise to his head, and just like always, he hears that man’s voice.

“Lohen…you don’t have to be a good detective to protect someone. Just be a detective that does good.”

“Fuck,” he snarls, fingers clawing into his hair.

“Lohen…are you sure you want to do this? Wouldn’t…wouldn’t Adorno—?”

“Shut up, Theodore,” he growls, his shoulders heaving. “You’re just weak. You always have been.”

“...I know. But if this is the path you want to take, then…I’m walking it with you.”

“Find something to protect,” he pants, staggering into the drywall. “All that guy ever said was to find something to protect. You’re fine, Lohen, you’re fine. Stop being so fucking weak!”

His trembling legs give out on him. He collapses to the ground, his eyes glued to the patterns in the grey carpet. Visions of that man and his benevolence rise to the surface, along with burning bile at the back of his throat. Benevolence didn’t stop Eroch’s gang from kidnapping him and Theodore; a man with a gun did. That man used to go on and on about how goodness was a virtue, but if he hadn’t been flanked by a squadron of police officers—by guys with power—Lohen would have fallen prey to the exact same horrors as the other boys. Another victim of the terrors they were subjugated to, because Eroch was power and Lohen was weak, weak, weakweakweak—.

A metallic taste coats his mouth. He releases his teeth from his tongue, gasping as it drips with his own blood. Clutching his palm over his thumping chest, Lohen makes another desperate gag for air. His phone vibrates in his pocket, and with his trembling hand, he fumbles to pull it up to his face.

[Bunny] You’re late! :)

His lower lip shakes. He thinks of you, your sunshine smile—the way you look at him like you love him. Mashing his palm to his leaking eyes, he stifles a sob.

“You stupid fuck,” he growls. “You’ve been waiting all day for this, and now look at you. You can’t let her see you like this.”

He’s supposed to protect you. He needs to protect you. Unlike him, you’re weak.

Ping! A notification descends from the top of his screen.

[Theo] Got one who took the bait. You down?

And just like that, Lohen’s breath stills.

He’s not avoiding you because he’s weak. He’s avoiding you because the bloodlust is back, and he doesn’t want to scare you.

Guttural screams echo into the dark night. The muscles in Lohen’s arm burn with strain, but he desists the call of reason. With another forceful swing of his blade over his head, his knife finds purchase in the flesh of his prey. The man under him writhes, blood mixing into grease stains speckled across his dingy t-shirt. His face is redder than his own dripping vitality as he fights against Lohen, trying oh-so hard to get the shorter, smaller man off of him.

Shorter and smaller does not equate to weaker. Despite their difference in size, Lohen’s the one in control of this battle. He’s the one with the power, the one to be feared.

As he stabs his knife through tendon and sinew, specks of blood fly from the man’s mouth and onto his face. Grasping Lohen’s wrist with his thick, grubby fingers, the shitbag screams: please.

Lohen halts. His dagger hovers over the man’s flayed flesh.

“Please?” he mirrors.

An eclectic frisson creeps up his back. He tilts his head, observing the man below him as his lips curl into a wide grin. His shoulders shake with an oncoming giggle, and before he knows it, he’s leaning his head back, whooping bubbles of laughter into the darkness. His stomach clenches in intermittent bursts, tears budding at his eyes. 

“Please?” he chortles. “Did you really just say please?”

The man responds with a gurgle. His red face turns blue.

“You fuckin’ sicko,” Lohen says, grinning so hard that it hurts. “What were you gonna do if I really was a teenage girl? What were you gonna do, if I looked in you in the eye, and I fuckin’ said please?!”

He stabs his dagger into the man’s chest with every ounce of strength he has left. The man rises up, red blood spewing from his mouth, before he dully slams into the pavement, motionless.

Oxygen comes quick and heavy. His fingers release the hilt of his blade, his eyes catching the roundness of the full moon. He stares after it as he catches his breath, palms laid slack at his sides.

It’s beautiful. A beacon of light amidst the darkness. It makes him think of Bunny.

“...Lohen.”

Theodore’s voice brings him back to the present. His old friend slinks out from the shadows, an assortment of thick plastic tarps and cadaver bags bundled under his arms.

“It’s time to clean up,” he says.

Lohen looks down, meeting the dull-eyed gaze of the creature beneath him. Still panting, he nods.

“It’s time to clean up.”

It’s 3 AM and Lohen and Theodore are on their hands and knees, scrubbing every last inch of his condo from floor to ceiling with forensic-grade cleaning products. They always split the place in half, Lohen handling the messier parts towards the bathroom while Theodore focuses on eliminating any traces that lead to the door.

“Hm?” Theodore asks suddenly, from the living room. “What’s this?”

He holds something small to the lamp light, tiny enough to be held between his thumb and forefinger. It glints as he turns it, and Lohen eventually recognizes the metal plating of a blue-eyed bunny.

“Give it to me,” he mumbles, swiping the earring from Theodore’s grasp.

“Wait.” Theodore grins. “Lohen. Don’t tell me you got a girlfriend?”

Lohen smiles strainedly. “Can you finish cleaning your half before you start yapping my ear off?”

“Ha! You totally have a girlfriend! When can I meet her?”

“Never,” he says, and he means it. “Shut up and clean.”

Theodore snickers, but he doesn’t push it.

Lohen’s glad. He likes Theo a little too much to cut him up in his bathtub next.

It’s approximately 3:21 AM when Lohen steps out of the shower. He towels his hair as he ambles into his bedroom, and when his eyes meet the right side of his bed, he plummets into the pillow face-first.

He inhales deeply. Curls his fingers around the soft fluff. Nuzzles into it until his cheeks hurt.

It still smells like you.

Ping!

Thinking it to be a message from Theodore, he lazily reaches for his phone on the nightstand. Nonchalantly, he unlocks the screen.

Unread— [Bunny] 9:30 PM You’re not coming? :( [Bunny] 11:00 PM I’m still waiting for you. [Bunny] 1:00 AM My shift ends at 3. You can still make it! [Bunny] 1:30 AM I bet you’re caught up with work, huh… [Bunny] now Hey, Lohen. Are you awake?

He immediately jumps to his feet. His thumbs fly across his keyboard in a flurry, his pulse skyrocketing.

How had he forgotten to let you know he wouldn’t be there? What did that say about him, a man who would let himself become so consumed with bloodlust that he neglected you? What if he made you doubt his love—doubt his undying affections? He’s stupid, stupid, stupid.

[Lohen] Omg bunny, im so fkin sorry [Lohen] You’re right, it was work [Lohen] Sorry I couldn’t make it </3 You get home ok?

Bubbles that indicate you’re typing oscillate beside your name and image. He had taken a photo of you when you fell asleep at his place, said photo being used as your display picture now. He taps the image, makes it bigger, and glides his thumb across the smooth surface of your digital chin.

Ah, he wants to hold you. He wants to bury his face in your neck. He wants to touch you under your clothes, feel your hot skin under his palms, and tell you he loves you.

He realizes you’re still typing. Concerned, he gnaws his lower lip.

[Lohen] You there bun? [Bunny] Yeah, sorry. I just had a long night.

He stiffens.

[Lohen] Wym? [Bunny] Just a lot of customers. They give me a headache sometimes. [Bunny] Sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. I bet you’re exhausted.

Lohen’s eyes narrow.

[Lohen] Who gave you a headache?

The oscillating bubbles return. Lohen counts the seconds it takes you to send your message and contrasts it with the brevity.

[Bunny] No one in particular.

You’re lying. That’s fine—all it means is that you don’t want to worry him. You’re kind like that, weak like that. If he’s not there to protect you, those men’ll lurch at you like wolves, leading his precious little lamb to the slaughter. Lohen won’t let that happen, though. He's not supposed to let that happen.

“I’m so stupid,” he growls, his thumbs tapping across the keyboard. “So fucking stupid. I should have been there, I—.” He gnashes his teeth. “I should have been there for her.”

[Lohen] Can I come over???????

Your reply is instant.

[Bunny] Yes.

When you let Lohen into your 200 square-foot apartment, he barrels into you like he hasn’t seen you in years.

“Sorry,” he whispers, his hand pressed to the back of your head. “I didn’t mean to ignore your messages.”

“It’s okay,” you reply. As you return his embrace, you say, “You’ve got an important job. I’m sure it keeps you busy.”

“Never too busy for you, Bunny.”

He pulls back to smile at you, his face all soft edges and homely curves. This is the Lohen you like. He’s the one you always want to see.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

You recall the drunk patron and his loud voice, the way his eyes skeeved over you the whole time you were with him. You remember him leaning to your ear, his boozy breath asking, how much for me to grab your ass?

You shudder. Lacing your fingers together behind Lohen’s back, you timidly shake your head.

His lips frown. You distract yourself from that look in his eyes by kissing him.

“Hey,” he says, interrupted by a second kiss. “Bunny—.”

You kiss him again. A question is still formed on his lips, so you suck it away. When you take his lip between your teeth, you feel his hot breath waft over your mouth.

Lohen’s hands fall to your hips, curling surely. When he kisses you back, relief washes over you like a tidal wave. His hands slide up the sides of your nightgown, following the contour of your body as he presses his weight against you. His fingers tickle their way back down, twitching around you when he reaches your hips.

Lohen parts from your hot kiss, his mouth open and panting. His face is red, and with his eyes trained on yours, he visibly swallows.

“Bunny,” he says, hands toying with the hem of your slip. “Can I touch you?”

You flush. Lohen’s hands are soft, his eyes even softer. The way he touches you feels pure. Like he loves you.

“Yes,” you say quietly. Then, “Please.”

Lohen’s eyes widen. Quickly, he recovers. He grins with his teeth and looses a soft, quivering laugh into the darkness.

In the darkness of your studio apartment, Lohen’s warm body slots perfectly against yours. His bicep rests under your neck, forearm curled around your front to play with your tits under your silk gown. Between your legs, his other hand rubs slow circles into your clit; gentle and loving.

You purse your lips, your fingers curling into the pillow beneath your head. Lohen’s fingers lightly brush across one of your nipples, and with a soft close of his hand, he squeezes your breast beneath his palm. You stifle a grunt, your back arching into his touch. When he lets your breast fall from his grasp, you let out a soft whine.

“Feels good?” he asks tenderly.

You chew your lip and nod. Between your legs, Lohen’s hand makes slick noises, his fingers coated in your arousal. As he switches from sweet circles to a linear rub, you feel your empty hole clench.

You almost want to tell him to put it in. But as much as you’ve done with your clients, you’ve never done that. Something about it scares you.

Not because of Lohen. You trust him—he treats you like a princess through and through. You don’t mind being vulnerable in front of him, because something within you knows that he doesn’t mind it.

Still, you’re hesitant. You’re not sure why.

“Pretty girl,” Lohen breathes, his lips kissing your thoughts away. “Will you cum for me?”

You stifle a whimper, your hand clawing harder into the pillow. When he kisses your neck, you nod your head.

“Good girl,” he purrs, the hand around your tit brushing along to your other. “Do I make you feel good?”

“Yes,” you whisper immediately. Your cunt throbs again, like it wants to grab onto something.

“Do you like it this way?” he asks, moving the fingers massaging your clit in a circular motion. “Or do you like it this way?”

He rocks his hand up and down, just like he had done before, but this time he adds more pressure. He gives you one or two rubs up, then one or two from side-to-side, and as you sputter your moans into the pillow, you just say, “Yes.”

Lohen laughs. Your pussy fucking seizes.

“You’re adorable when you fall apart like this, Bunny. You’re my pretty girl, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you whine, waves of pleasure throbbing up your core. “Lohen.”

“Shh…it’s okay. I’m here.”

Your breath catches, falls, rises, staggers. Eyes turning back into your skull, your hips rock forward into Lohen’s palm, pressing your mound to his warm hand. As your body tenses with sweet release, you feel Lohen’s mouth at the base of your ear, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

Your throat hurts by the time you’re coming down. The walls of your apartment are so thin, you wonder if your neighbors are now privy to Lohen’s name. The thought should embarrass you, but it only makes you cum that much harder.

The hand on your breast lifts up to your chin. Turning your face backwards, Lohen leans over you and presses his mouth to yours.

“Mm,” he says when he pulls away. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

Heat consumes your face. Staring hungrily after his lips, you whimper, “Yes.”

“Good.” He grins, his teeth gleaming through his charming smile. “I love you, Bunny.”

“Oh,” falls from your lips, shaking in the air. You gaze into his longing eyes and feel so, terribly, weak.

He gives you a chaste peck. You stare at each other for a while longer, Lohen’s thumb caressing your jaw as his other hand smears your own cum across your belly in slow, sweeping strokes.

If by some odd chance, in the future, you’re ever given the chance to reach back and preserve a moment in your life, you’ll have to remember to pick this one.

“I wanna get you cleaned up,” he murmurs. “Put you to bed. That okay, Bunny?”

You smile.

“Of course it is, Lohen.”

You wake up to the smell of eggs and bacon.

Groggy, you push yourself into an upright position in bed. You blink your tired eyes, your hand reaching out to the space beside you.

It’s empty. When you blink the sleep from your eyes, you realize it’s because he’s at your stove.

At one point, you were bitter about living in this closet-sized space in the middle of downtown Mond. Now, you appreciate the intimacy. Limited by these plaster walls, you won’t ever have to look far to find him.

You shuffle out of bed, feet brushing lazily across the floor. You know he hears you coming, but you appreciate how he keeps his back turned. His shoulders work beneath his shirt as he rustles the pan and stirs the eggs, and once you’re close enough, you press your face into that crisp collar of his.

Lohen’s laugh is a low chuckle. “Morning, princess.”

“Mm…g’morning,” you mumble. “You’re cooking for me…?”

“Uh-huh,” he answers. “Guess I should have asked how you like your eggs… but I figured there’s nothing wrong with good old scrambled.”

You let out a cheeky giggle. “You should scramble my eggs.”

Lohen’s body tenses between your arms. A flush of scarlet consumes his ears, and once you realize what you’ve said, heat bathes at yours as well. Awkwardly, you laugh and sputter, “Sorry.”

“No, it’s…that was funny,” he replies with a chuckle. “You’re cheekier than I took you for, Bunny.”

You continue to hold him as he plates your eggs, hiding your blushing face in the crook of his neck. Lohen only laughs.

“You should eat, pretty girl.”

Oh, how you love it when he calls you that. “Thank you. You’re so sweet, Lohen.”

“Only for you, Bunny.”

His eyes twinkle, sending your heart flip flopping in your chest. Directing you to your tiny mockery of a dining table, he extravagantly spans his arms.

“For the lady, I have a tantalizing plate of organic grade-A œufs alongside some premium, thick-cut poitrine fumée. And of course, a side of apple cider.”

You don’t know what half the words he said meant, but you appreciatively clap your hands anyway. Grinning, you ask, “Since when do you speak French? And I know I didn’t have bacon or apple cider in my fridge last night. Does that mean you went shopping for me?”

“The only French words I actually remember from school are the food ones,” he says, setting his plate down next to yours. “And you were sleeping so soundly that I figured I’d sneak out and fill your fridge. Amongst other things.”

You bring the cold glass of cider to your lips. “Other things?”

Lohen smirks, gesturing off to the side with his fork. Your eyes follow it to the neat stack of envelopes on your coffee table. You certainly remember those bank statements being strewn across your floor yesterday.

“You’ve wracked up quite the tab, Bunny. I figured you were an expensive woman, but…” He whistles.

Your face flushes. “...I promise I’m not an irresponsible person. I had it all lined out, just…in organized chaos.”

“Heavy on the chaos.”

“Heavy on it,” you supply.

He smiles. “My Bunny’s got a degree, and she didn’t even tell me. No wonder you’re so eloquent.”

You nibble your eggs, feeling a bit shy. “I got my master’s, but…it didn’t exactly pan out in the end. As I’m sure you can already tell.”

“Job market’s tough.” Lohen snags a bite of bacon, chewing as he watches you. He swallows before saying, “It’s a real shame. You’d have been better off using that degree than being a hostess.”

Your chewing jaw slows until you’re mindlessly tonguing a tepid lump of eggs. A familiar feeling takes hold of you—the harsh sting of regret.

“Sorry,” Lohen says quickly. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way, Bun.”

You’re brought back into the moment. Shaking your head at him, you smile.

“No, no, I know what you mean. But there is one good thing about it, I guess.”

He smirks. “Oh yeah?”

You lean over, knocking your shoulder against his. “I never would have met you if I was working in some office somewhere.”

Lohen laughs, his face dusted a light pink. Smiling at you with his teeth, he shakes his head.

“I dunno. I think we still would have met.” He knocks his shoulder against yours this time. “Kinda feels like you were destined for me, you know?”

They’re sweet nothings he’s spouting. They don’t hold meaning, just a pile of sugar-topped saccharin.

“When a man says something sappy, just hold your head up and smile, kid.”

Miss Rosaria tells you to smile, so you do.

It’s 7:30 PM at the cabaret club, and you and Lohen are embroiled in conversation about his work.

“What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever seen?” you ask curiously. “Other than Chief Varka without alcohol.”

Lohen snorts into his glass of apple cider. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen the Chief without alcohol.”

“Trust me,” you say, recalling how stone-faced he was when he stumbled into the cabaret after a month of prohibition, “you don’t want to see that.”

Lohen chuckles, his arm resting along the rim of the booth behind you like always. He doesn’t touch you because it’s against the rules, but you can tell he wants to. You wouldn’t mind cuddling up to him either.

“I’ve seen a lotta shit,” he says. “If I had to pick the scariest…”

His expression flickers. Your throat tightens when you remember those eyes.

So you place your hand on his thigh. You rub your thumb along the outseam of his trousers, taking notice of how his breath hitches. This kind of touching’s definitely not allowed, but what Rosaria doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Your hand’s far enough under the table anyway.

Lohen clears his throat, his ears tinted red. You like how embarrassed he looks when you touch him, kind of like that first time you ever put your hands on him. He had whimpered so desperately for you—smiled so sweet. His eyes were so soft.

“Scariest thing, huh?” Lohen says into his fist. “Honestly, the answer’s kinda boring.”

“Hm?” you reply, stroking his leg higher.

“I think the scariest thing,” he chokes out, “is a crime scene that’s totally clean. No traces of anything.”

“Huh? Wouldn’t that be less scary than one covered in blood and guts?”

“That’s what you’d think.” His eyes flick to yours, then away. “But when the crime scene’s clean like that…that’s how you know you’re not dealing with an amateur. It’s…unsettling.”

You try to imagine it: a place where you know a murder has occurred, but everything at the scene remains as it was. Clean, perfect, and untouched. Maybe too clean. Maybe too perfect. Like no one ever lived there in the first place.

You don’t like this scenario. You focus on the texture of Lohen’s trousers beneath your fingers instead, stroking the fabric up and down.

He swallows, his eyes focused on the white-topped table like he can see your hand through it. He nibbles his lower lip, and you wish he was nibbling yours.

A cold hand touches your shoulder and you freeze where you sit. Heat and shame flood into your cheeks as you slowly turn to face your irritated manager, who’s just trying to run a business.

Your hand whips back to your own lap. You pray Rosaria didn’t notice, but you know better.

“Turnover, Bunny,” she says flatly. She gives Lohen an artificial smile. “Dear guest, I need to borrow Bunny for a moment. In the meantime, please enjoy a conversation with our lovely Miss Fortune Teller.”

“I am not a fortune teller, I am a diviner of astrology!” Mona gestures her fingers around her eyes like she can see through everything. “Dear guest, prepare to be amazed by the power of the scry glass!”

“But,” Lohen says, his eyes stuck to you, “I want to talk to Bunny more.”

“Um, sorry, Lohen,” you reply, following Rosaria as she pulls you by the wrist. “But this is kind of how my job’s supposed to work.”

Hook the guest with their favorite girl, get him coming back for a few days to build the bond. When the affection peaks, swap her out. Force him to talk to the ones he’s not interested in, to order drink after drink while he waits for his one true bunny. Wrack up the tab, bring his girl back. He’s gotta impress her, so he’s gotta order more drinks. The tab climbs higher, but the conversation’s so worth it. It gets juicy, then you snag his girl away again. Rinse and repeat.

You’ve never felt any particular way about it until now. It makes it easier for you to get away from the creeps, but a new creep eventually takes his place. Is a varied assortment of creeps better than an hour with one?

You honestly don’t know. You’d take an hour with Lohen, though. Maybe two, if Rosaria would let you.

Your boss shoots you a look that says, “Don’t say what you’re thinking out loud.”

So you sigh and make your way to Table 12.

“Hello, guest,” you say, the same practiced, worn-out line. You smile at him like he’s Lohen. “I’m Bunny. What’s your name?”

As you slip into the booth, your back facing Lohen, you feel the prick of his gaze. It gives you goosebumps. When you glance back, you spot the pout on his lips.

You smile, turning away from him again. You think to yourself, how cute.

“I’ll kill them,” echoes through your mind.

You can’t shake the cold chill. Digging your nails into your palms, you try your best to maintain your hostess facade. Because it’s your job. Lohen understands that. He has to.

You tell yourself that, repeatedly. But your goosebumps never settle.

NEXT CHAPTER -> if you would like to be tagged whenever i post lohen x reader, please check my rules here! thank you! masterlist | fic masterlist

Until your manager’s ice-cold hand clamps down on your shoulder, that is. She gives you a glance, the glowing tip of her cigarette burning to cinders. It’s hot enough in the breakroom, where the A/C’s been broken since you started working here, but you wouldn’t dare tell Rosaria to take her smoldering cigarette somewhere else.

“Look sharp, kid,” she says, a thick cloud of smoke escaping her blood-red lips. She sticks the cigarette between her teeth, scribbling something across her clipboard as she brushes past you. “Varka’s guy is back. Says he wants to see you.”

Before your tired mind can register her words, Rosaria’s already halfway across the dressing room, stiletto heels stabbing into the plush red carpet. You stand abruptly, staring over the girls beating at their faces with powder puffs and compact blush. Confused, you sputter, “That guy asked for me? Again?”

“What? You don’t like being popular?” Rosaria shoots back.

“No, I just…I mean, it’s…weird.” Your voice falls to a low mumble. Rosaria’s already gone.

You turn to look at yourself in one of the vanity mirrors that line the room. A series of glowing bulbs frame the glass mirror, one broken and flickering, but providing adequate lighting nonetheless. You lift your hand to the black bunny ears atop your head, straightening them so the floppy headpiece sits upright.

Your hands slowly fall to your sides. Looking at your tired eyes, reflected back at you through the thick glass, you let out a ragged sigh. Grabbing a packet of cold medicine, you swallow it dry before returning to the main floor.

The lights are brighter in the club than they are in the break room. Gilded chandeliers hang from the ceiling, sparkling down upon the pure-white tables and gold-tinted fixtures, shoddy things painted to look more expensive than they are. All this light refracting off tackily bright decor would probably give you a headache if you weren’t already staggeringly used to it.

“Are you alright?” Mika asks, giving you a nervous glance. “You haven’t looked too well today, Miss Bunny.”

You cringe at how he refers to you. Out of all the girls stuffed into multicolor bunny suits, you’re the only one who went for that low-hanging fruit of a stagename. Maybe this is why.

“I’m fine,” you say. “What table am I going to?”

“Oh…let’s see. Looks like it should be Table 5…that’s the first one to your left just around this corner.”

“Great. Thanks, Mika.”

You give him an appreciative nod before stepping onto the main floor. With each click of your heels against wood-topped laminate, your perplexity only grows. Police Chief Varka’s a regular customer, but the associate he had brought with him last week didn’t strike you as the type for hostess bars. You remember him well—the teal-haired man who had barely touched his drink while looking uninterested for most of the night. He looked closer to your age than most of your regular clients did, and as far as you could tell, he hadn’t seemed all that interested in you.

Or so you thought. Ever since that night, the man’s come back to the club every other day with one sole request: to see you. Not the top girl, Barbara; or the runner-up, Mona; but you. You lack any semblance of passion for your job as a bunny girl, and your ranking on the popularity ladder definitely shows for it. Strange, then, that you’d find yourself scoring a regular so quickly.

Your eyes meet a pair of red and blue ones, already focused on you from across the room. Miss Rosaria always reminds you to hold your head up and smile, so you do.

He smiles back, his eyes softening. Fingers laced over his drink, he beckons you over with a nudge of his head.

You move to take the booth seat across from him, but he shakes his head. Scooting over, he pats the space beside him.

“Sit next to me, won’t you?” he asks. “It’s…a little easier for me to talk to you that way.”

“Sure.”

You squeeze into the booth next to him, placing your hands on your thighs. Staring down at the white-varnished tabletop, your eyes catch onto the flute of champagne before you.

“I ordered you something,” he says. “You…like champagne, right?”

You don’t, but it’s your job to say that you do, so you nod. Fingers curling around the skinny portion of the glass, you say, “Thank you. It’s sweet of you to order me something.” Your eyes turn to his side of the table, which is empty. “You’re not going to drink with me?”

The man blinks at you. A crimson color soaks into his cheeks and he sharply turns his head away. Palm pressed to his face, his laughter comes out muffled, red peeking out from beneath the white collar of his crisp button-down.

“Nah, I don’t…I don’t really drink. I just, uh. Really hate the feeling it gives, you know? Getting drunk blurs the vision and makes it hard to hold a—…” He makes an odd, strangled sound.

“A knitting needle,” he says quickly. “Makes it hard to hold a knitting needle. ‘Cause I knit and stuff. Yeah.”

He lets out a bedraggled sigh. You observe him as you sip your flat champagne, pity squeezing your chest. You choose not to tell him that the club’s alcohol is too watered down to get drunk off.

“We have non-alcoholic beverages too,” you tell him. “Our apple cider is actually quite good.”

“Stop telling customers about the apple cider. I’m trying to run a business here, kid.”

“Er,” you mumble, recalling Rosaria’s icy words. “I’m kind of not supposed to say that.”

“Hm?” he asks, still facing away from you. “What’s wrong with apple cider?”

“Nothing. I, uh, actually really like it. But my boss doesn’t really like it when I mention the lower priced items.”

“Stop telling customers that I told you not to say things. Once again, I’m trying to run a business.”

Fuck. Warily glancing around to ensure that Rosaria isn’t patrolling, you grimace.

You hear the rustle of the man’s clothes. He’s facing you again, though his eyes don’t exactly meet yours. His face is still pink when he says, “I can order you cider if you want. I don’t think you’ll get in trouble with your boss if I just order some of the pricier drinks too.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to—. I mean. Yay?”

You are so bad at this whole saleswoman hostess thing. It’s a wonder you haven’t been fired yet.

“Mika,” the man at your side calls, flagging your waiter coworker down with a raised hand. “Get me and the lady two glasses of apple cider, will you? And we’ll do two bottles of Angel’s Share.”

Your eyes bulge out of your head. “Wait,” you say, glancing between Mika and the teal-haired man, “let’s slow things down. Dear patron sir, that’s kind of the most expensive bottle on the menu. They’re well over fifteen hundred for just one.”

“Yeah?” he answers, raising an eyebrow. “Doesn’t it, like, help your pay if I spend more?”

“Well, I mean, yeah—but this is the third time we’ve ever even spoken—.”

“Ah, you’re right. Three bottles then, Mika!”

Your jaw drops. Mika shoots you a small smile, inclining his head before making tracks for the bar.

You’re at a loss for words. The guy hardly knows you, you hardly know him, and he’s dropping well over four grand on champagne bottles he’s not going to touch? It’s not like you’re an insanely popular hostess or anything, so what gives?

“When a customer spends money, your job is to say thanks. Please listen to me for once. I’m just trying to run a fuckin’ business, kid.”

You clamp your mouth shut. Swallowing hard, you put on the best hostess smile you can muster.

“Thank you,” you say, batting your eyelashes the way Barbara and the others taught you to. “You’re such a generous man, Mr…”

“Lohen.” He hides his red cheeks under his palm. “My name’s Lohen.”

It’s 8 PM at the cabaret club, and Lohen’s come to visit you again.

“Hi,” you say, a genuine smile on your face. Your eyes run down his dark blue suit, decorated with gold emblems that proudly read M.P.D. “Won’t you get in trouble, wearing something like that into a place like this?”

You tuck into the seat beside him, even though you wouldn’t mind looking at him head-on this time. Lohen extends his arm behind you, resting it on the wooden rim of the booth. Giving you a smile that’s curled up more on one side than the other, he says, “Nah. If they even try, I’ll just rat on Chief Varka for being the one to show me this place.”

You laugh. “Guess even men of the law need a break every once in a while.”

His eyes soften like they always do when you laugh, his lips curled into a gentle smile. You feel a sudden rush of heat to your face, and when you snap your gaze to the empty seat across from you, you’re ecstatic that you didn’t sit head-on.

“Ha,” Lohen says, his voice tickling its way into your brain. “You’re cute, Bunny. Do you mind if I…?”

You glance over at him. His hand hovers, his eyes focused on your hair. There’s a red blush on his face, but his smile doesn’t falter.

Your heart skips a beat. Perhaps it’s a low bar, but you’re not used to your guests asking instead of just doing. Timidly, you nod.

His fingers brush your hair behind your ear, fixing the locks into place. His hand lingers a moment, brushing the rim of your ear with the lightest of touches before he returns it to his side.

Your ear burns where he had touched it. Loosing a nervous giggle, you stare down into your glass of apple cider as you clutch your hands into fists.

Lohen’s a lot younger than your typical clients, and it doesn’t hurt that he looks good enough to be a host himself. It’s only natural for you to get flustered, right?

“...Hey,” Lohen says eventually, his voice a low murmur. “I’ve kind of been wondering…if I could get your contact info? If that’s okay.”

“Of course,” you reply, immediately procuring your phone from your bunny outfit’s sole functioning pocket. “Here, you can scan my LINE code.”

Before you can tap your information to display it to him, your thumb hovers over the screen. Just like the other girls at the cabaret club, you have an SNS account dedicated solely to work. That’s the information you’re supposed to give when a customer asks for your socials, so that personal and professional boundaries don’t get blurred. Because Rosaria’s trying to run a business.

You glance at Lohen. He stares at you expectantly, his own phone held in hand.

What Rosaria doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?

You tap your personal account, holding the code out for him to scan. Something flickers across Lohen’s eyes, but as soon as that look appears, it’s gone.

“Thanks,” he says, smiling again. “I’ll message you some time.”

“Sure,” you answer warmly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Slowly, he turns his head away from you. His blaringly red neck pokes out from under his suit collar this time.

You laugh.

[Lohen] [bunny.png] [Lohen] Hey bunny. You working tonight?

When you get his message, you’re on your knees, rummaging through various piles of bills and statements that surround your apartment with the giant red words “OVERDUE”. In your left hand, you hold a statement from your student loan financier.

To Miss Customer—

We are offering a new loan forgiveness program for those struggling to make monthly payments! If interested—

You crumple the letter into a ball and toss it aside. With a loud sigh, you plop onto the floor, bringing your knees to your chest and your phone to your face.

[You] Hi, Lohen. Sorry, but I’m off today. [Lohen] Noooooo [You] Haha, why? What’s up? [Lohen] I really wanna see you T_T </3

You don’t realize you’re grinning until your teeth bite into your lower lip. Quickly, you text your response.

[You] I’ll be there tomorrow! Come see me then :) [Lohen] … T_T [Lohen] But I wanna see you today bunny </3

Are you imagining that thump of your heart, or is it really pounding against your rib cage? You’re starting to feel like a school girl who just got a text from Mr. Popular.

[You] I’m sorry </3 I want to see you too. [Lohen] Oh, yeah? [You] Yeah! [Lohen] Come over then.

Your eyes stay stuck on his last message. An eerie feeling takes hold of you as you interpret his words.

Perhaps Lohen senses your hesitation, because his next string of messages arrive in a flurry.

[Lohen] wait, not in a weird way [Lohen] i totally just weirded you out, didn’t i [Lohen] sorry bunny [Lohen] just forget i said anything

Your tense shoulders relax, but a twinge of guilt nibbles at your conscience. Over the past few weeks that you’ve been getting to know Lohen, he’s never done or said anything that’s made you uncomfortable. He clearly likes your company, and you like his, so it’s not unreasonable for him to invite you over, right? He’s not one of those clients, who you only respond to when the cabaret check isn’t enough to keep you afloat in the red zone. If you went to his house, you wouldn’t leave feeling as dirty as you do with all the others, right?

You let out a shaky breath. Quickly, you text your reply.

[You] Where do you live? :)

Lohen’s condo reminds you of him. Sharp black accents and modern fixtures, floor to ceiling windows that let him survey downtown Mond from the fiftieth floor, and a delightfully tasteless sense of interior design. As you had presumed, he’s a man through and through; there’s no decor to be spoken of in his condominium, save for a crystal-blue marble that sits atop his coffee table.

It’s dark inside, but in a comforting way. Lamps appear to be his preferred source of light, and they paint his walls with a gentle yellow hue. When you walk further into the condo, you pick up on the smell of cleaning products.

The thought of him scrubbing the place from floor to ceiling before inviting you over makes you smile.

“You should sit,” Lohen says, beaming over at you with two glasses in hand. Both appear to be apple cider, bubbling with suspended cubes of ice clinking together as he walks. Your eyes slide from his arms to his chest, where the top few buttons of his shirt are undone.

Feeling warm, you look away.

“Thank you,” you say when he hands you a glass. “I’m actually pretty thirsty.”

He chuckles, and when he sits, the couch dips ever so slightly beside you. Laying his arm across the top of his couch, just like he does when he visits you at the club, Lohen crosses one leg over the other and looks down at your dress.

You feel your throat tighten. When Lohen glances back up at you, he flushes.

“Sorry. I’m not used to seeing you in normal clothes…you look cute.”

Your ears burn. Sipping the bubbly cider instead of replying, you pray for it to cool you down.

“Uh, anyway. You like movies? TV shows? I’ve got like fifty streaming services, so I’m sure we can find something you like.”

His face is trained on the large flat screen mounted across from you, which faintly reflects the image of you and Lohen on the couch. As soon as he turns it on, the light masks your forms entirely. Various channels line the screen.

“That’s a lot of streaming services,” you say wondrously. “You must really like TV.”

“Eh, not really. I never really watch anything.”

“Then…why pay for so many?” You snort. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who forgets to cancel his free trial.”

He grins. “Something like that. Here, you pick.”

He hands you the remote, and as you accept it, your fingers brush his. You try not to dwell on it too much, taking another gulp of your apple cider before turning your attention to the various streaming channels on Lohen’s television. Tapping the directional keys, you eventually settle on an old movie you favored in your youth.

“...A fairytale.”

Lohen’s voice comes out oddly breathy. He’s staring at the TV with wide eyes, like he can’t quite believe it. When he senses your gaze, his shoulders flinch.

He’s back to smiling again. Teasingly, he asks, “You watch these cheesy old princess stories?”

“Ha…well, I haven’t really watched anything in a while.” The unpaid bills and staggering interest figures flicker through your mind. “But when I do, I guess I do pick something cheesy…I really like those feel-good happy endings, you know?”

Lohen rubs his chin. “Do you?”

You feel embarrassed all of a sudden. “Sorry. I guess it’s kind of childish.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s endearing, actually.”

He doesn’t look at you as he speaks. You’re glad, because you’re certain your embarrassment is written plainly across your face. It’s funny how Lohen was the shy one at first.

The intro plays. A girl stares longingly out the window of her castle, saying, “I’m tired of this mundane life. Where’s the knight who’s going to sweep me off my feet?”

Her animal companions twitter. You glance over at Lohen, trying to gauge what he thinks of your film of choice, and see that his eyes are focused on the screen. Satisfied with this, you relax back into the sofa.

The back of your neck touches his arm. Your fingers grasp your glass of cider, but you don’t move. Neither does he.

“So you like romance movies,” Lohen says suddenly.

“Ah, well…I don’t particularly like or dislike them.”

“Hm. You ever been in love, Bunny?”

Your mouth feels dry. You take another gulp of cider before answering, “No…I don’t think so.”

Silence falls between you. You feel the weight of Lohen’s gaze on your cheek.

“Never?” he asks. “Not even with your kindergarten boyfriend?”

“I didn’t have a kindergarten boyfriend. And even if I did, I doubt I would have been in love with him.”

“So you’ve never been in love,” Lohen repeats. “Not with any guy ever.”

You look away from the heroine of the movie, who’s letting her long hair cascade from the castle window. Lohen’s eyes meet yours, blue around the edges, red in the middle, and even in the dim condo lighting, they’re intense. It’s almost like his irises are trying to pierce right through you—to stab into your mind and examine your thoughts.

Are you made nervous by it, or are you more attracted? Unsure, you swallow.

“Um, no,” you say quietly. “I’ve never been in love. Not ever.”

The heavy look in Lohen’s eyes dissipates. His lips curl up at one corner.

You stare down into your cup for a moment. Looking back at him, you ask, “What about you?”

Perhaps he’s surprised by the question, because he blinks his blue-green eyelashes like he can’t fathom that you asked. His lips part, but as his silence lengthens, a color as red as his eyes dusts across his face.

He looks away, smiling sourly. In a quiet voice, he says, “I…have been. Or…I am, I guess.”

Why does your stomach turn at that? He’s just a client, or perhaps even a friend. His answer shouldn’t mean anything to you.

“Do you mind if I ask who…?”

Your voice is barely a mutter. Lohen’s Adam's apple bobs in his throat.

Slowly, the arm behind you comes down onto your shoulders. Firmly, it wraps around you. Those eyes of his find yours again: soft, comforting, and full of affection.

His voice is a whisper.

“What if I said ‘you’?”

Your breath hitches.

You can’t recall the last time you ended up between a man’s legs because you wanted to.

“Bunny,” Lohen moans, his fist balled into the hem of his shirt, pulled halfway over his defined stomach. “F-fuck, that’s good.”

Your hand slides up and down Lohen’s shaft, coated in a thick layer of lube from the stash in your purse. You watch the expressions that flicker across his face as you switch from a two-fingered grasp to your full fist, delighting in the way he turns his chin to the sky. His chest heaves under his button down, stretching the fabric with each heavy gulp of air he takes, making your own swell with pride. With soft breaths, you twist your fist around him on your way up and down, feeling him throb against your palm.

Maybe it’s because you aren’t used to doing this with someone you like, but you take extra notice of how Lohen whimpers. He digs his teeth into his lip when you do something he likes, and when you try to ease off the pressure, he whines. His hips snap up into your palm sporadically, like if you gave him the chance, he’d fuck himself instead.

You feel a clench between your legs. A moistening of the fabric between your thighs.

“Nn,” Lohen whines, needy and breathy. His nails claw at the couch. “Put your thumb on it again, Bunny—nn.”

You do as he asks, and he repays you with another sweet whimper. Rubbing your thumb against his glans, smearing his precum all over his head, you stare longingly after Lohen, satisfied thoroughly by his red-faced gasping. His hips buck into you again, and a tiny spurt of precum stains your fingers.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, his brows furrowing, teeth gnashing together. “Bunny, I just might—cum.”

You smile. “Wouldn’t it be better to do it in my mouth?”

His eyes open and bulge. Staring at you with that shocked expression, Lohen thrusts his dick once more. A hot line of seed erupts from his bulging tip, running down your fingers, turning your handjob both wet and sticky. You wring it out of him, he cums again, and with another shy moan, he falls limp in your hand.

Lohen’s looking at you, but it’s almost like he’s not physically present. He pants raggedly, his lips parted, so focused on staring at you that a trickle of drool runs down his chin. You gently set him down before lifting your hand to your mouth.

You watch him as you lick yourself clean. His tongue swipes across his lower lip, and with his mouth closed, he breathes heavily through his nose instead. His face is still soaked in crimson, the color consuming him from his hairline to his chest. As you suck his bitter cum off your fingers, you watch his expression morph.

“Th…thanks,” he says, his voice somewhat shaky. “You’re…really good at that.”

You smile. “One of the perks of the job, I guess.”

“Huh.”

Lohen’s breath catches so hard, you hear it. He leans over his thighs, and all of a sudden, it’s almost like he was never struggling for air in the first place. Those eyes of his are wide, staring just a hair’s breadth away from your own. In a low, growling voice, he asks you, “What?”

Shocked, you stumble back onto your heels. You blink rapidly, unsure what’s consumed him, and mumble, “I-I said…one of the perks…of the job…”

He tilts your chin up, forcing you to look back into those searing eyes. They don’t blink. They don’t waver. His tone remains grave.

“You’ve done this before?”

Your jaw drops. Shame flushes you as you stammer, “Y-yes. But never with anyone I like, Lohen—.”

“Someone made you do this with them?”

“I wouldn’t say made me,” you sputter, shaking your head. “It’s pretty normal for cabaret girls to, um. Sell their services to clients on their own time. But I…it’s not like I want to, I just…”

Tears poke at the corners of your eyes. You feel dirty, sinful, full of shame. The red letters “OVERDUE” flash through your mind, the sensation of calloused palms, the feeling of fists in your hair preceding dollars tucked into your cleavage. You feel nauseous, your eyes flicking around the darkness of Lohen’s condo as you search for the words to salvage this.

“I’m sorry—,” you try to say.

“I’ll kill them.”

A chill creeps up your spine. Goosebumps rise along your arms as the room begins to feel so cold, you’re certain Lohen left the window open. His eyes; piercing, searing, unblinking; remain fixed to yours. In a cold, mechanical voice, he repeats, “I’ll kill them.”

“Wh…” You lift your hand to your heart, feeling it race a mile a minute under your palm. “Lohen, what…?”

He leans over, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, and gives you a kiss so hot, your goosebumps nearly settle. The taste of your salty tears and his sweet apple cider fills your mouth, the texture of his tongue tickling your upper palette. He kisses you hard, his mouth practically mashing against yours as he sucks your lips again, again, and again.

When he pulls away from you, his eyes are soft again. He brushes the tears off your cheeks, and you quiver beneath him. He presses a ginger kiss to your browbone.

“Money problems?” he asks gently.

You feel compelled to tell the truth, lest the frigid Lohen from before make his reappearance.

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing you chastely. “Don’t cry, Bunny. You couldn’t have known that I was coming to save you.”

Your lips tremble. “Save…me…?”

“I’ve got you,” he insists, butterfly kisses to your cheek. “If it’s money you need, I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you, Bunny, I promise.”

Something about his intensity doesn’t sit right within your gut.

“Come on, Princess,” he says, his eyes twinkling like that of a charming prince. “Where’s that smile of yours?”

Another tear rolls down your face. Slowly, unsurely, you make your lips do as he says, but the motion doesn’t feel natural.

“I love you,” Lohen murmurs, grinning with his upper row of teeth. “I’m here now, so I promise I’ll protect you. No one will ever touch you again, Bunny, I swear.”

He kisses your cheek and your eyes slide to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The movie on the TV glares against the dark glass, projecting a flipped image of a princess embracing her knight, laid right over top of you and Lohen. As Lohen presses his mouth to your skin repeatedly, you feel weak.

Maybe you fucked up.

Or maybe, you need this.

“I love you,” he repeats desperately. “I love you so much, Bunny. I’d fucking do anything for you, I promise.”

This isn’t right. You don’t know love, but this doesn’t feel right.

“Don’t cry, pretty girl,” he whispers. “I’m here for you.”

Even if it doesn’t feel right, it feels good.

So you relax under his touch. As he kisses your tears away and whispers sweet nothings into your ear, you close your eyes.

And you pray you haven’t made a grave mistake.

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