#kensei

The more you moved against him, the tighter his arm wound around you. He sighed into your hair, simultaneously warm and chilling, trapping you where you were, subconsciously refusing to let you go.

He was so unlike the other man at home, if you could even call it that when the place you were in now felt much more familiar. Your boyfriend didn’t like to cuddle. “Your body’s too warm. Can’t sleep like that,” he’d growl bitterly at your attempt to be near him, shrugging you off. But not Kensei. Even when your bodies suffocated each other, slick with sweat, he still never let go of you. Even though it was forbidden, wrong, you knew you’d both return to this same place, again and again. He held you like it would be the last time, like if you separated, it’d kill you both, like he was only ever your other half, and this was the way it was always meant to be - not apart, but together. Not two, but one.

But he wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his. Every morning you spent like this was simply too good to be true.

“Ken,” you whined, stirring him awake. Facing reality was too daunting a task to complete alone.

“Hm?” He relented then, his grip loosening just enough for you to peel yourself out of the bed.

“My head hurts,” you muttered a lame excuse, frowning as you distanced yourself from him. “Need to get some medicine.”

You wrapped your arms around your frame, shivering as you helped yourself to his medicine cabinet, filling a small cup with water and guzzling down pain killers. You saw your melancholic reflection then, and how ruined you looked - hair disheveled, makeup runny from the tears you shed, your skin pale and gaunt with dehydration. As you inspected every fault and flaw you could find, Kensei came up behind you, his reflection towering over yours.

His arms snaked around your waist, pressing your phone against your abdomen. “He’s texting you,” he explained gruffly, his exhausted tone laced with resentment.

“Thanks,” you replied shortly, grabbing your phone and awkwardly shuffling out of his hold again.

You left him for the second time, returning to his bedroom, peeling his shirt off your body and dressing yourself in last night’s clothes. You wiped at your smeared makeup in between articles of clothing and attempted to brush down your unruly hair with your fingers. Kensei followed you, leaning against the doorframe, skeptically watching you hurry to get away from him.

“You want coffee or anything for the road?” He offered indignantly, smirking. “Water? Tissues?”

You finished dressing, sighing deeply as you mustered the courage to face him. “I shouldn’t have come here.” You admitted. “I’m sorry.”

Kensei let out a frustrated sigh, pushing off the doorframe to cross his arms over his broad chest. “He’s a bastard, (Y/N).”

You frowned, your fingers trembling around your phone, fearing the slew of missed messages from him. “I - I know he is,” your voice broke. “But he’s good to me sometimes.”

At that, he pulled a face, giving you that ‘seriously?' disapproving expression he used on you so often.

“And I’m not him,” you hurried to add. “I should be better than this.” You gestured around his bedroom, the one you knew your way around so well.

“Damn right you’re not him,” Kensei huffed harshly. Then, he straightened, taking on a more serious expression as he silently observed you.

“What?” You demanded, fidgeting under his gaze.

He softened, shaking his head slowly to himself. “You’re beautiful.”

His words thrusted into the deepest, ugliest parts of you, ironically enough. You scoffed, unable to stop your instant defense mechanisms. “I look like shit run over twice. Don’t give me that.” You wrapped your arms around yourself again, frowning.

He chuckled at that, stepping closer, looking down at you. He let each moment, each movement pass by languidly, holding you here for as long as he could have you. And you stayed, letting him brush the hair out of your face, letting his eyes dart about, admiring those faults and flaws you were picking apart only minutes before this. When you returned “home,” there would be no such gentleness. You’d have all of your belongings again, your space, your food, your drinks, your trinkets, your clothes and accessories and appliances…

But you’d miss your other half.

“It’s already too late,” he told you. “The weather’s nice.” His hand found your waist, lifting your shirt, brushing soothing circles into your skin. Chills erupted in their path as your feet rooted to his floor. “Just stay for breakfast,” he demanded, pleaded, nudging his nose against yours.

And how sweet it was to have a man like Kensei asking you to stay. How could you say no? The weather was nice.