#oc cyprus

“You are so, so cute.” You can see his fingers twitch as he brings them close to his face, as if itching to touch you. But he refrained from doing so. To which you were appreciative of. 

Leveret opened his mouth to say something, but something behind you caught his eye, causing that smile to turn into a shocked frown. Before you could even turn around to see what had upset him so much, he gripped onto your arm tightly and yanked you behind him, as he protectively shielded you from whatever threat just literally manifested out of thin air. 

You heard a deafening slam of a door, more like it swung open so hard that the handle made a hole in the drywall. Poking your head from Leveret’s frame, your blood ran cold upon seeing the last person you wanted to lay your eyes on.

“(name)!” Cyprus barked; you could see that he’s positively furious. Not entirely at you for escaping, but the fact that another man is touching you- as evidenced by the fact that he’s scowling at Leveret. 

“I’m giving you three seconds to get the fuck away from my woman.” You winced at that guttural growl directed towards the man who did your makeup and was nothing but kind to you. “I’m not playing, I’ll bash your fucking head in.”

“Cyprus, being aggressive isn’t going to solve anything.” Leveret tried to diffuse the situation, calmly yet assertively. He still refused to expose you to the potential danger in the room. “Let’s talk. Like adults.” 

“One.” You felt chills down your spine as you watched Cyprus rolling his shoulders and wrists, as if warming up for a fight.

Leveret said nothing, his eyes occasionally darted around to check for any exits, but they’re mostly trained on the threat in front of him and you.

“Two.” Cyprus continued with the countdown, cracking his knuckles while rolling his neck. You cowered behind Leveret, fingers tightly gripping onto his sweater, which made your abhorrent admirer’s blood boil. 

“There are better ways to approach this, Cyprus.” A last attempt to get through to him peacefully fell on deaf ears. It appears Leveret already knew what was coming, as he shifted his stance to a slightly more defensive one.

“Three!” The hook Cyprus threw was so fast, so powerful, that it appeared as an incomprehensible blur. But Leveret was faster, as he managed to dodge it in time fluidly. Instinctively, you scurried to the furthest corner of the room and sought refuge under a desk.

This position gave you a good vantage point, though, as you could see both men fighting in full, clear view. 

It's not exactly a fair battle, though. Leveret is constantly on the defence and Cyprus on the offence. Leveret encapsulated grace and elegance, while Cyprus- pure vicious ferality and combat skill. The way the two of them moved was mesmerising, hypnotising, and almost soothing to watch, if not for the fact that someone was getting badly injured today. It was as if you were watching a well-choreographed action sequence fitting for a movie.

Leveret periodically glanced in your direction, checking up on you while distracting Cyprus. It doesn’t really seem like he’s too focused on not getting his skull caved in by the professional boxer; you note that he’s constantly scanning the area, as if expecting something to appear or happen.  

His hazel eyes suddenly lit up when he spotted it: a door. This time, it appeared to be a slightly weathered wooden door with a tarnished brass lever handle. It came into existence quite close to where you’re hiding.

Cyprus whipped his head towards the door too, noticing its sudden appearance. Leveret immediately scythed his foot low across the floor, taking Cyprus’s balance with it and sending him crashing down. He had to act fast while his opponent was temporarily incapacitated, and so, Leveret did.

He advanced towards you, grabbed your arm, and swung the door open simultaneously. A reassuring smile adorned his face when your worried eyes met his.

“See you soon, my darling. I love you.” Leveret briefly kissed you on the forehead before shoving you through the portal. Before he slammed the door shut, you caught a glimpse of Cyprus getting up on his feet, mid-lunge towards Leveret. 

And now, you find yourself back in darkness again. Except, this time, you’re in a way tighter space. Much stiffer, coarser, and claustrophobia-inducing. You felt your panic when you realised whatever is surrounding you is naturally closing in, pressing against your face and restricting your breathing. Your hands claw their way through the mysterious medium, which begins to feel more and more like damp potting soil scraping against your skin. 

Every muscle in your body is activated to dig through it, your fingers, your feet, your knees… you were running out of air. Like a mole, you tunneled upward until you felt the dirt around you became looser and easier to push away. Even then, you kept going, and eventually light reached your eyes. Your fist broke through the surface, letting rays of light shine into the hole, you then squeezed yourself through the tight opening, popping out of your burrows- flinging soil everywhere. The surprised yelp when you emerged didn’t go unnoticed though. 

Brushing the dirt off your eyes and hair, you came face-to-face with a man with the kindest, bluest, downturned eyes in the world. Clad in gardening gear that does poorly to hide his interesting fashion choice of wearing a cravat while tending to his plants, he covered his mouth in shock. There were specks of brown and black in his long, tight curls of grey. You felt a little guilty for accidentally spraying soil all over him, but you desperately needed to breathe- absolutely no time to waste.

“(name)!” He lets out a shaky exclamation, dropping his shovel onto the ground with a clatter. 

This must be Blanche. Through his voice and face alone, you can tell that he is warm and intensely nurturing. But you don’t trust him yet, so you try to retreat into the dirt and hope that there’s a door down there somewhere leading to an empty bathroom you can use. As soon as you tried to dig back down, though, you found yourself standing at the bottom of the terracotta pot.

And so, you allowed yourself to be helped. Blanche pulled you out of the anomalous receptacle and quickly dusted you off the best he could.

“My dove, wh- how…” He stammered incessantly, unable to truly formulate any meaningful question to ask you. In the end, he decided to seal his lips shut and focus on cleaning you up the best he could. 

You and he were silent as he took his time processing what had happened. Neither of you had to vocalise anything, though. Your stomach did the work by gurgling loudly.

Pity and heartache were written all over his face. He picked a few tangerines from a nearby tree. You noted how short this plant is and how much fruit it bore. Blanche then rinsed his hands and the citrus with running water from a garden hose. 

“You haven't had anything to eat for the whole day, have you?” He peeled the tangerines and fed you their juicy, orange flesh. Too hungry to think of anything else, you ate straight from his hands.

It was the sweetest, most succulent tangerine you ever had the honour of tasting. 

“My poor starlight…” His heart wrenched painfully in empathy as he watched you devour the measly meal. 

And it would be like this for a while: Blanche hand feeding you his fresh produce, including a couple of tomatoes, various berries and more tangerines, you gladly throwing them into the hatch while still covered in dirt.

You slowed your scarfing, to which Blanche correctly deduced that you're getting full. He decided it would be an appropriate time to start getting answers. But it seems like he already noticed something strange about you.

“Do you remember what brought you here?” He asked, with an air of caution around his words.

You shook your head. 

“Do you… remember me?” He asked with great hesitance, already knowing the answer based on your body language and circumstance he's finding himself in, but not wanting to confirm it.

You, of course, shook your head again. This time, you didn't brace yourself for some shitstorm, though. Blanche seems reasonable enough. And he seems like a sweet, harmless, frail old man. It would be a lie that you didn't feel an ounce of guilt upon seeing his crestfallen expression and the welling of tears in his eyes.

Blanche took a moment to compose himself before taking a deep breath and… reintroducing himself.

“My name is Blanche.” He swallowed stiffly before continuing. “I was your best friend… well, I'd like to think I still am.”

Best friend? That's definitely interesting. 

Blanche blinked his tears away and smiled sadly.

“Mr Mansion tends to facilitate interactions between guests living in him.” He explained. 

“Doors appear and reappear seemingly at random. Sometimes trapping us into a room, sometimes freeing us from it, sometimes forcing us to talk to each other. But I know it isn't just done so all willy-nilly.” Blanche sighed, his eyes seeking yours.

“I just… I didn't think Mr Mansion could be this cruel…” He muttered under his breath, frowning. 

You said nothing and just stared at him. After a straight minute of silence, Blanche laughed out of bitterness.

“He has done something with your ability to talk, too. Oh, I'm so sorry you have to go through this, my dove. Mr Mansion shouldn't have brought you into this…” He wiped more soil away from your eyes using his thumb.

Mr Mansion? So this is all controlled by a single entity? It seems like Blanche knew a lot more about… everything. You wish you could discuss it with him, but curse your damn malfunctioning vocal cords.

Frustrated, you started vocalising. Predictably, in uncivilised shouts and yells. 

Yet, Blanche isn't fazed at all. He smiles, and it's full of pity and sadness. It's as if he's fully expecting this.

“I know you have a trillion questions about whatever nonsense is going on, dearie. I do too.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I believe… we will receive the answers we rightfully deserve in due time. Please don’t fill that sweet head of yours with worry, we will be quite alright.”

You actually felt… assured. It’s probably because you also felt heard and understood. Plus, Blanche is the only one who isn’t weird so far. Not pushy, not delusional, doesn’t demand your love back, and doesn’t assume that you’ll see him as a haven. Obviously, he is hurt by your supposed loss of memory, but he handles his emotions well. 

A door faded into existence. A dark, mahogany door with pristine handles and locks. It stole your attention, and Blanche’s the same. 

“Ah…” He mumbled. “I guess Mr Mansion think it’s time for you to meet Mr Yves.”

You snapped your head to him. How does he know that? Maybe it’s also a lucky guess, but how did he come to that conclusion?

Sensing your confusion, Blanche explained himself, 

“That is a replica of the door to Mr Yves’s office. I’m sure it will lead to him, or at least, to the place he appears the most.” 

You hesitated, you don’t know this “Mr Yves” guy. The only interaction you had with him was so brief, you don’t know what to make of it. Hell, odds are, he could be worse than Cyprus!

You looked back at Blanche and shook your head. You don’t want to leave him, the only sane member so far! 

You gripped onto his sleeves, pointing at him and then to yourself, then to the door. Trying to get your request for him to come with you. Blanche simply knelt to meet your eyes. 

“Mr Mansion doesn’t want me to come with you, my flower.” He explained compassionately. “The door is… five sizes too small for me. It’s perfect for you, but I’ll need to be whittled down to a peg to fit!” 

You looked back at the door. He’s right, it’s way too small for him, but you should be able to go through it with no issue. It’s nauseating how insanely confusing the spatiality of this reality is. 

But regardless, you’re still worried about what lies behind that door. So you refused to part from Blanche and shook your head.

“Oh, my poor sweetheart…” He cooed, smoothing your dirt-laden hair. “I know you’re scared, but there is no reason to be.”

He massaged soothing circles on your arm with his thumbs. “Mr Yves is a clever man. He was the first one to figure out Mr Mansion’s most basic motivations and made accurate predictions no one could ever have thought of. He is a bright scientist through and through- you will find his office filled with books, eagerly offering their knowledge to anyone interested in expanding their reservoir. There will be comfy chairs to sink into, much better than the pebbles under your feet.”

Still not fully convinced, you shook your head. You’re scared.

“I promise, pinkie promise that Mr Yves will be kind. He had never once been horribly mean to any of us. He is the most capable of us all, and in many ways, he is the leader and lighthouse in this dark, terrifying world of uncertainty.” He brought his little finger up for you to hook your finger around it. To seal the deal.

“I have the utmost confidence that he will explain everything better. He would know what to do; he always does. He will help you, my darling dear. And I know that, because I know you are someone special to him too.” 

You gulped, well. He did drive a few convincing points into your brain. You took a deep breath and exhaled, completing his pinkie promise. But before you made a move, you pointed at the tangerines. You don’t know if you’ll have the chance to eat when you walk through that door. 

Immediately understanding what you want, Blanche encouraged you to go ahead, “Take as much as you need, my garden is fertile and fruits and vegetables are plentiful!”

You did a small bow of the head to thank him as you went ahead to collect the fruits. Blanche also helped you harvest other crops for you to snack on.

But really, you’re actually just stalling for time. You don’t know what to expect from Yves. You would definitely feel much more comfortable if Blanche were there with you.

"Where else did he touch you, hm?" he asked, tucking a hand under your gown and letting his calloused digits roam around your bare back. You scream and thrash, trying to get his paws off you, but he won't budge. Cyprus continued with his invasive touches and verbal grilling.

"Did he... touch you here?" You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes when he sensually traced the curve of your rear. One may think that he must be enjoying tormenting you like this, but when you glanced at his face, he appeared to be more... troubled. Specifically, pissed. You don't know if that anger is directed at you, Montgomery, or the circumstance at hand. 

“Or… here?” His hands slid down to your thighs, groping them as he went. Cyprus is inching closer and closer to your privates. A pathetic, sad whimper escapes your lips as you try to push him away, but to no avail.

Cyprus may be an asshole, but at least he is a decently perceptive asshole. He definitely picked up on your body language and other nonverbal cues that you do not want to be touched in this way. So, without you explicitly telling him what you’re truly feeling through the watery eyes, squirming and whining, he gave you a proposition that you almost cannot refuse.

“You want me to stop, princess?” He gave you a half smirk while brushing the tip of his nose against the side of your face. “Then, give me a kiss.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes and lips shut as you tried to pull away from him. 

“No deal?” He cooed condescendingly. “Fine by me.” Cyprus, being the bastard he is, hooked a finger around the band of your inner shorts. You began shouting again, as you know that he’s trying to pull them away.

At this point, you’re bawling your eyes out. Overwhelmed, violated, and exhausted, you let your tears just flow. You were hoping that your severe distress would buy you some sympathy from this horrible man. But you were afforded the opposite. 

You were rendered frozen when you felt the familiar drag of a wet tongue against your cheek. Cyprus is not letting any of that go to waste; he kept licking like a fervent dog. 

“Aw, you crybaby. I'll stop when you kiss me. You know that.” He repeated the conditions and snickered against your damp skin.

Finally, you pecked him on the cheek. Unfortunately, though, Cyprus doesn’t seem to be satisfied with a mere gesture of innocent affection, as is evident by his hands still on you like glue.

“On the lips, baby.” He puckered dramatically and made loud, obnoxious, smooching noises. 

You hesitated greatly, but his roaming hands accelerated your decision-making process. You closed your eyes and leaned into him, letting your lips meet his. You can only hope that the time passes and he keeps to his word, leaving you alone.

He relished it and deepened the kiss. Cyprus, against the initial agreement, slipped his tongue into your mouth, leaving no corners unexplored. Your jaw felt strained, as everything about this man is much larger than you. Your orifice felt full as his tongue inadvertently pried your mouth open with its size. It absolutely didn’t help that it felt like it had a life of its own, wriggling and sliding everywhere.

After what felt like an eternity, he decided that you’re probably struggling to breathe, so he parted himself away from you. Albeit in displeasure.

You panted as your eyes trained themselves onto the string of saliva connecting you and him. Cyprus is completely unaffected; it’s like he has Olympic swimmer levels of breathing abilities. The bastard smiles triumphantly and licks the spit away, only then you realize how freakishly long his tongue is, and you couldn’t believe all of that fits into your mouth without choking you to death.

“That's a good girl.” He whispered into your ear while petting your hair. You shuddered when he pressed a kiss on the shell of it. But you were grateful that he didn’t do anything worse.

Ultimately, he did honour his end of the bargain. Cyprus stopped with his violating touches, but he then forced you to cuddle with him on the bed. You’re still facing him, but at least now your eye level is on his broad chest. He rests his chin on the crown of your head. 

He strokes your hair rhythmically, and after a while, you calmed down enough not to feel like you’re about to pop from extreme pressure. Cyprus occasionally dips down to sniff you deeply, while mumbling about how good you always smelled.

He lets out a sigh before speaking. “...It was so fucking hard to get you to accept that you’re my girl.” 

You didn’t let out a peep. Not like you could say anything of meaning, anyway.

“You were always so shy. It was like pulling teeth to get you out of your shell.” He rubbed a few strands of your hair between his fingers. “Always on that damn phone, hiding from the world, hiding from me…” Cyprus paused for a bit before snorting at himself.

“You made me sound like I’m some old fart, always nagging you to put that thing down.” He droned on, taking a huge whiff of you as he ended his statement. You felt your pulse quicken again when he tightened his hold on you.

“...You’re so important to me, more than you think.” He continued, his adams apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. 

“You’re the only thing that got me to quit decades of smoking.” He said it in a way that was so melancholic yet reverent. Swirls of conflicting emotions swam through his head as he, too, processed what he had just told you.

Another sigh left him. After that, the room was silent again for the next few minutes. This allows the weight of his last words to sink in, to let you simmer in the realization that you are, without a doubt, the only thing that seems to matter to Cyprus.

He suddenly let out an exasperated groan, then his hands disappeared from their original position and to a place where you didn’t expect.

You whined incoherently when he pinched your cheeks firmly, pulling on them until your upper teeth got exposed. “It was so fucking hard to get you to love me. It took us damn years to get there. Blood, sweat and tears, and now we are back to square-fucking-one.” He hissed through gritted teeth, increasing pressure on your flesh out of frustration. But he doesn’t do it to the extent that it actually injures you; it definitely does feel like he’s using this as a punishment somehow.

You felt relief wash over you when he released your face. He kissed the spots he pinched, probably in an effort to soothe them.

“But… I’m more than happy to do it all over again. Because I know it will be worth it in the end.” He whispered, smiling throughout, His grey eyes glimmering with hope and sadness. “No one can ever make you feel good as I do. I’ll make sure of that. I’ll fucking make sure of that.” Cyprus proceeded to bring his soft lips against the side of your neck.

You sat up and started yelling again, trying to get the hell away from him. Cyprus simply sat up too, now at the edge of the bed. He then effortlessly grabbed and fitted you snugly on his lap. 

Your legs circle his waist, hands on his strong shoulders to support your balance, while his built arms act like a backrest. He craned his head up to look you square in the eyes.

Neither of you spoke; you’re warily looking at him while he stares up like a lovesick fool with half-lidded eyes. Without his glasses, they looked much more intense. You were looking everywhere except him. He continued observing you without saying a single word, his hand making its way to your arm. Cyprus proceeds to massage soothing circles on your skin.

“What is my girl thinking about, hm?” Cyprus cooed sweetly at you. When he received no response, he started bouncing you on his thighs. You felt something uncomfortably stiff under you, prodding dangerously close to your privates in every bounce.

Of course, you panicked and started bark-shouting again. This time, though, Cyprus doesn’t flinch, unlike the first time you freaked out similarly.

“Ah, is that right, baby?” He tilted his head in faux innocence. “You enjoyed my kisses?” A teasing smirk made its way to his stupidly handsome face. You didn’t miss the way his scar slightly warped around his upper lip.

You shook your head and tried to communicate no, but alas, your mysterious disability simply allowed you to exclaim forcefully in short incomprehensible syllables.

“You think I'm handsome? Aw, thank you, pretty girl.” He continued with this imaginary conversation of his as if it were reality. This caused some sort of a feedback loop, where you’re misrepresented, unheard, distressed or ignored, you respond in more meaningless shouting. Cyprus then used that as ammo again.

“You have eyes for me and me only? Of course, I know that. I never doubted you for a second.”

“You think Montgomery is ugly and gross? And you're glad that I was there to protect you? Oh, baby, you know I'll always be there for you.”

“You want that motherfucker dead?” 

You felt your blood run cold. You don’t think Montgomery is dead yet, just heavily injured, seeing how he was crammed into that cabinet. But you do not doubt in your heart that Cyprus is fully capable of killing a man. Or multiple men. 

“Of course, I'll do anything for my girl.” He spoke in a tone that was patronising and infantilising.

You frantically shook your head and hands, desperately trying to convey that’s not what you want. But you then, once again, fell into his very obvious trap.

“You love me? Aw. I love you too.”

Cyprus laughs heartily, while you stayed completely silent now. 

He just laughs when you stay completely silent

“That was a good talk, princess.” His laughter eventually died down and was replaced with a dreamy sigh. 

“Only you can make me happy.” He pressed a kiss on your collarbone. “Remember that.”

Then, unexpectedly, your stomach grumbled. It was loud enough for you and him to hear, and you swear you could even hear it echo back to you from the corners of the room.

He pulled away to inspect your face. “Did you have anything to eat so far?” 

You shook your head. In response, his smile turned into a concerned frown. Cyprus looked troubled upon realising that there were no doors in sight. 

He then gently nudged you off him, back onto the bed. Cyprus got up and pecked you on the forehead before beginning to look around the area. Probably for exits or something for you to eat. He inspected the walls, running his hands against them to feel for any hidden entrances. 

Looks like he found none, as he proceeds to look out of the window. Cyprus then dug his fingers into the frame and tried to pry it open.

While he’s busy figuring out a solution, you feel something cold and metallic press against your arm. You jolted and turned around to see a door right behind you. Its brass doorknob was what was touching you.

You switched your attention to Cyprus and to the door. He seems occupied enough.

You bit your tongue as you tried your best to open the door quietly. But your luck ran out when the hinges creaked loudly, making Cyprus snap his head back at you.

Fuck, no time to waste! You swung the door open and jumped in. Not caring what you’re going to be landing on, as long as you shut it behind you and he can’t get to you for now. 

Not a second too soon, Cyprus’s lunging figure and his shouts disappeared when you slammed it shut.

However, you are now in a pitch-dark enclosed box with soft material all around. Its textures are consistent with wool or cotton fabric. Well, you’re grateful for whatever these are, you assume that they’re clothes. They broke your fall when you made that escape. 

You then ran your hands around the walls, to notice that there doesn’t seem to be a clear exit. No grooves or ridges to tell you that a doorway is present.

You lean against a wall and start to panic, fearing that you might end up dying in here from suffocation. The air is getting a little thicker from consuming the oxygen, and you think that this mysterious place is airtight, too. So you might be running out of air soon if you can’t find a way out.

So you resorted to wailing and hitting your fist on the four surface. Ramming against a wall using your shoulder. Suddenly, light floods your enclosure and the wall you were leaning on gives way to nothingness. You felt gravity doing its job, and you were thrown off balance. You screamed when you felt yourself falling.

But before you could get a fatal head injury, you were caught by a pair of arms. Not as muscular as Cyprus or even Montgomery’s. They’re a lot leaner, but sturdy nonetheless.

A loud gasp reaches your ears before you can recover from your disorientation.

“(name)?” A voice, masculine, called out.

He helped you to your feet, holding you steady by your arms as you started to make sense of your environment again. 

You’re staring at a face so beautiful, yet so different from the first two men you encountered. He has upper-back length, midnight black hair with a healthy sheen, styled in a lush, curly blowout. Gorgeous hazel eyes were framed with lashes delicately mascara’ed, he’s gaping at you, in disbelief that you’re real, physical, tangible. His charm is a lot more leaning to that of a high-end magazine model, with high cheekbones, clear skin, and a distinct beauty mark on his right cheek. Much more feminine, much more gentle.

His copper eyebrows were knitted together in worry as he began to perform a checkup on you, involving some touches to your face. A very familiar and invasive experience. So you started to shout, scream, squirm and hyperventilate from the stress.

He jolted in shock. His first instinct was to let go of you completely; his perfectly manicured, slender fingers released you. He held his hands up in the air, showing that he’s not holding anything dangerous. And you took this chance to quickly scramble to the other side of the room, the furthest corner from this new stranger.

You cowered, shielded yourself with your arms and trembled. Fearing what this stranger has in store for you.

He seems to be surprised and hurt that you ran away. However, out of all the men you met today, he appeared to be the most sensitive and considerate to your energy and emotions.

“Oh darling, it's okay…” The stranger knelt, folding his hands neatly on his lap. 

You slowly recovered from your terror, breathing stabilised, and you decided to take a clearer look at the new person. Zero hostility, none of Cyprus’s creepiness and Montgomery’s delusion. A comforting smile graced itself on his face, a Duchenne one with genuine wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.  

“You’re safe, I won't hurt you.” He says in a gentle, soft croon. The stranger slowly extended his arms out for you to approach.

You took note of how he’s wearing a white, fuzzy turtleneck sweater. A section of his hair was held up by a ribbon band tied up in a specific knot, which looked like bunny ears from an angle. You shook your head, refusing to move. Fearing that it may be a trap, you're also out-touched and overstimulated today by literal strangers.

The man dropped his hands to his side, disappointedly.

“Well… I'll be right here whenever you're ready.” He said and stood up, gathering the clothes that had fallen alongside you earlier.

Silence blanketed the two of you. No new doors in sight, the curtains were drawn, so you couldn’t tell if there was still daylight outside. The only noise you hear is your own breathing and the shuffling while the stranger picks his clothes back up and hangs them back in place. 

Eventually, everything was tidied. Without sparing you a glance, the stranger took a seat right in front of his vanity. He picked something up and started skillfully applying it to his lips, using the large mirror as a guide.

You stood up, a bit wobbly and began to cautiously approach him. The stranger watched from the corner of his eye and turned to you. He smiled at you, still holding the lipstick. The packaging looks expensive, with a glossy, black finish and a shiny golden base. There is a distinct logo on it, but you don’t think you recognise the brand.

“Yes?” He spoke, eagerly waiting for your next response.

You pointed at his lipstick. 

“Would you like to use it, dear?” He asked, drawing a sheet from his facial tissue box and wiping the top of it. 

You nodded. After that, he gladly handed it to you. A small gasp escaped his lips when you began pressing the lipstick against his mirror.

“Oh, sweetie, that's-” He grimaced as you destroyed his expensive makeup, somewhat crushing the shape of the creamy pigment as you tried to write something on the mirror. You were a little annoyed that the lipstick was sheer, so you needed more force to make whatever you’re writing look legible.

You wrote, “who r u”. Not bothering with the grammar, punctuation or spelling. As long as he understands.

This stunned him for a bit; he darted his eyes between you and his soiled mirror. Searching your face for any indication that this may be a prank on him. But he found none, and you were truly lost.

He appeared frozen in time, his brain rifling through the memories of whatever he had witnessed over the past few days. Connecting all the dots and perhaps even realising the reason why Yves shed tears after randomly appearing in the middle of the living room through a door-portal.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Leveret.” He lets out a shaky breath, his smile looks strained and somewhat wavering as if he's trying not to weep. You don't know if it's because you couldn't remember him, or if it's due to his ruined lipstick.

You tried to write again with the same lipstick, but took it away from your hands. Leveret then stood up, walked to a nearby drawer. He then retrieved a simple writing pad and a fancy fountain pen for you to use. This is much better, you can now communicate effectively!

While you’re writing your thoughts out, Leveret tries his best to salvage his lipstick by shaping it back with a metal cosmetic spatula. He did so while sitting down in the chair.

Once you’re done, you present the sentence: “was i ur lover” to him.

He took another breath and let out a nervous giggle. You didn’t miss the way his eye twitched a little.

“Yes.” He choked out. “And… I'm assuming you have no recollection of anything about that?”

You nodded. He seems like the sanest so far. The most intelligent one, too.

He looked away briefly before adding: “You're still mine, dear.”

You were slightly taken aback by his words, to which he decided to clarify, “My lover, I mean.”

There was a beat of silence before either of you could think of another question to ask. In the meantime, Leveret wrung his hands anxiously, biting his bottom lip as he contemplated.

Finally, he found one first.

“My sweet, why did you ask if you were my lover?”

You furiously scribbled on the paper: “Everybody says I was their lover”

“Oh? Who is “everybody”?” He pressed on, but not with any pressure. Just out of sheer curiosity.

You presented the names,  “Monty + Cyprus”. You admittedly did not know how to spell Montgomery’s name.

His eyes widened at the sight of their names. For a moment, his eyes turned dull and glazed over, but they returned to concern for you 

“Is that so, darling?” You nodded. Leveret opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it again. He stared into the distance for a moment, his hands continued to fidget as he thought about what to say or do next.

 “I can't imagine how scary it must be dealing with them.” He had the most sympathetic tone, and it felt weirdly validating to hear him say that without him molesting you in some way. “Are you alright, dear?”  

You absentmindedly nodded while looking around for another door to appear. You found none.

He sighed, “Whatever shall I do with you…?” Leveret quietly mumbled against the palm of his hand as he propped his head up against the desk of his vanity. 

He longingly watches you explore his spacious bedroom, decorated in deep reds, pinks, whites, and silver accents. You stared at his circular bed, understanding that Leveret has a very specific aesthetic that you don’t think is very common. Interestingly, he has another seat shaped like a stiletto heel. 

“...there are five of us in this mansion.”

You whipped towards him, interested in what he had to say.

“It's just Blanche and…” He lets out a defeated, exhausted and dreadful sigh before continuing, “...Yves left for you to meet.” 

Yves… you remember him as someone kind of eerie. But he doesn't seem to share a reality with you. He asked you for your name, and he just doesn’t give you the impression that he will treat you like how the first two men treated you. Did you even share a reality with him?

It appears that Leveret doesn’t look forward to the moment when you and Yves meet, though. You wonder why.

Now it's just one more of these men left, and you don't know what to expect.

You wrote down, “who is blanch”

He chuckled at your misspelling. “There's an “e” at the end of his name… He is a kind… gentleman. Old-fashioned, I would say.”

You then wrote, “is he like cyprus”

Leveret seems to catch on the implications, his eyes widening at your question. “Heavens! No. No, no, not at all. Blanche is nice, and Cyprus is… well. I'm sure you didn't have the best experience with him, seeing how frightened you were when you arrived.”

You then wrote, “how u know I was with Cyprus before u”

He lets out a laugh, with a manicured hand gingerly covering his mouth. “A lucky guess, darling.”

Then you wrote, “was i Blanche n Yves’s lover too”.

His eyes scanned through your words and were soon filled with despair, as he accepted the fact that he would most likely need to fight the others to have you rightfully in his arms.

“Perhaps, if they too, followed the trend you’re experiencing. Oh, you've found yourself in such a predicament, darling.” He laughed bitterly as he shook his head.

You looked around again, no doors in sight. He monitors you in silence as you head to his closet again, opening it and hoping it will lead somewhere else. Not that you find being with Leveret is unpleasant. But you just don’t like being in one place for too long, especially with people who are adamant that you’re their lover. You’re really craving to be alone right now.

Alas, the closet door doesn’t lead anywhere. It’s just full of clothes.

You exhaled in exasperation. Looks like you’ll just need to wait.

You sat on his fluffy rug cross-legged and just decompressed. But you're not fooling Leveret; he knows you're bored and waiting for an exit.

"Darling." He called you, which brought your attention to him again.

"Would you like a makeover? I have makeup in your shade." He smiled invitingly. Leveret also presented his eyeshadow palettes with neutrals, glitters, and brights alike.

You rubbed your chin in contemplation.

There are no doors, at least, not yet. Montgomery elaborated: "I'm sorry, sweetheart, the house does what it wants. Sometimes, we're stuck in our rooms the whole day. The doors only appearin' when nature calls."

As if on cue, you realised that you should probably use the bathroom soon... and a door appeared right in front of you and Montgomery's bewildered eyes. No extravagant appearance like a magician's trick, it just somehow faded into existence.

The door then creaked open to reveal a bathroom, more aligned with the design of the hallway. Modernly tiled yet quaint with a mini vase on the cistern, holding some flowers. It seems like the toilet roll has been refilled recently.

You slipped out of Montgomery's grasp and entered through the doorway, shuddering at the feeling of cold ceramic under your bare feet.

Before you could shut the door and give yourself much needed privacy, however, Montgomery held the door open.

"W-wait. Don't close it, I don't know where this crazy house is going to spit you out." He stared you down with pleading eyes.

You shot him back an incredulous look and shook your head.

"Sweetheart, we're married. Ain't nothing to be shy about." He reasoned, expecting you to agree. "We leave the bathroom door open all the time, it don't matter what we do in there."

Nope, you are not having it. You are not letting a stranger watch you piss. You gently pushed him away from the doorway, ignoring his whines and protests. In the end, you managed to shut the door without sacrificing any of the strange man's fingers.

Finally, you let out a breath of relief. You took this time to reflect on what you knew of the inhabitants and what your next strategy is.

Sitting on the toilet bowl like The Thinker as you went ahead and do your personal business, you closed your eyes and let the cogs in your head turn. What is your goal?

Is it to retrieve your 'old' life? Or is it to just adapt? Or start over entirely? You may not know Montgomery that well yet, but you have a feeling that he isn't your first choice for a competent husband.

Hell, do you even have an established life? For all you know, you could just be a doppelganger and Montgomery is just a desperate, heartbroken man who's willing to delude himself to numb the pain of being in such an unfamiliar situation.

You should head back to... wherever you'll end up next. Your bladder is empty, your head is cleared, hands washed and toilet flushed, time to get out.

Grabbing the brass doorknob with intricately carved designs, you twisted it and pushed the door open to step out of the bathroom.

Carpet. Your soles are touching carpet.

You whipped your head up to see that you're no longer in the charming, southern, antiquity of Montgomery's bedroom. But in an entirely different area.

With an entirely different inhabitant as well.

This room truly reflects its owner: aged, ripped, and crooked posters of competitive fighters almost smother the off white walls, a simple metal bedframe pressed in the corner with messy sheets, and the sound of fists slamming against a well-used punching bag bounced off the walls.

It didn't take long for the stranger to notice you. His grey irises zeroed in on you as he held his arms out, mid-practice. You absolutely didn't miss how his tank top reveals a clear impression of his built body and how his messy, short hair framed his face perfectly.

You froze as he straightened his stance, furrowed his eyebrows, and squinted at you. He picked up a pair of glasses from a nearby table and set them on the bridge of his nose.

"Princess?" He said. With a voice so deep you can feel it buzzing in your chest. You made no moves.

There was an air of confusion and joy around him as he appeared to recognize who you are. The corners of his lips curled up into a smile as he opened his strong arms wide for you. Peals of his happy laughter reached your ears as the corners of his eyes crinkled with genuine glee.

"I missed you so fucking much!" He began taking a couple of steps forward, making you jolt in surprise. "Come here, pretty girl."

You shook your head at his coos, withdrawing away from the man who easily towers over you and beyond.

He paused dead in his tracks when he picked up on the glaringly obvious hostility in your behaviour. His smile faltered, his eyes widened, and his arms slowly lowered back to his sides. You tried discreetly yet frantically searching for the handle of the door behind you, but you ultimately found that it had disappeared.

You had no way of escaping now.

"What's the matter with you? Why are you backing away from me?" The warmth of his voice noticeably seeped away, replaced with something more stern yet desperate. The man tentatively brought his arms back up to try to capture you in a hug. But you quickly dodged his attempts and tried to voice your disagreement.

Only to vocalise single syllable yells. Amusingly, loud enough to make such a menacing-looking person like the stranger flinch momentarily.

"What the fuck...?" He muttered under his breath as he observed you seemingly experiencing a panic attack, with incoherent shouting and gesturing thrown into the mix. You were either trying to tell him that you have no idea who he is, that you are scared of him, that you're as confused as he is, or a mixture of all three.

Perhaps it worked, he lowered his arms back to his sides and simply eyed you up and down, not bothering to advance any further.

Both of you seared holes into each other's eyes as if being entered in an involuntary eye contact competition. Your lips are sealed, and so was his; the only difference is that you can see he's starting to frown at the predicament.

You looked around for any doors. While doing so, you decided to create a greater buffer distance between you and the threat. The additional movement must have activated something in the stranger, as he suddenly shot his arm out to grab you by the wrist.

You didn't even have time to scream, pry his hands away, or even realise what was happening before your other wrist was captured too. His immense height casts a dark shadow over you as you struggle, thrash, and scream for your life. He, unfairly so, did not budge. Not at all, as if you're just an ant to him.

"Stop." He barked.

You felt your back hit the wall. The stranger has caged you between himself and it with his arms. His command was authoritative enough to shake you to your core and listen. It was as if you were instantly tranquilized by his voice, but you were simply paralysed in fear.

You looked away from him, eyes darting around to see any opening to escape.

"Look at me."

You refused to. And in response, he grabbed you by the jaw. Although not using excessive force, the stranger did so quite firmly that your lips were puckered out.

He turned your head to him, and you were faced with the most intense pair of stormy eyes gazing upon your trembling self. You whimpered in fear as you tried to gently claw his fingers away from your face.

The stranger has paid your squirming no mind, instead choosing to inspect you in his mildly invasive way. Turning your head left and right, up and down, then softly pulling your eyelids up or down, with the same treatment done to your lips, exposing your teeth and gums.

You started yelling midway, but your recalcitrance was quickly corrected by a brief, sharp, aggressive hissing snap of the breath from the stranger.

After you think he's satisfied with his inspection, silence hung heavy on both of you. The stranger barely blinked, and you're struggling to breathe out of anxiety.

All that tension was then broken by the man giving you an unexpected peck on the lips.

You splutter, and he unexpectedly loosens his hold on you. This allows you to dart away to the furthest end of the room. Cautiously watching him from a distance, you see that he wore a face of annoyance with a hint of hurt swirling in it.

He exasperately ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.

"We worked past this crap. Why are you acting all mean towards me again?" Despite his biting words, you can feel that he's concerned and worried for you.

"...acting all scared, more like." He continued, but in a mumble.

This standoff lasted for a few more seconds before he began slowly circling you like an apex predator. You appreciate the fact that he's trying to make himself look less intimidating by softening his gaze and rounding his shoulders. But nothing works to make him appear harmless in your eyes.

"You know I would never hurt you, baby." He sighed when you ran away from him at the faintest sign that he was going to get closer.

"...You knew that..." He spoke once more, more gently now. His voice was wavering, laden with pain and heartbreak.

You snapped your head at the sound of a door opening. More like, swinging open. The stranger brought his attention to the visitor in his room.

"There you are, sugar! Don't just wander through these doors without me! I told you, I won't know where you'll be spat out once you close 'em!" You had never felt this much relief for his presence before. Montgomery looked absolutely frazzled, with his hair messier than before.

You ran into his arms, to which he promptly wrapped around your smaller form. Before Montgomery could say anything further or even acknowledge the other person in the room--

"Get your fuckass hands off her!" In large strides, the stranger closed the distance between him and your temporary protector. His fists were clenched, and you can see him tightening his jaw in bubbling anger.

You cowered in fear, while Montgomery stumbled a bit out of surprise. The other man was getting all up in Montgomery's face and wasn't showing any signs of benevolence.

Worming out of your ally's hold, you retreated behind him, hoping that Montgomery could be your shield for now. This earned a shocked look from the stranger, which was rapidly replaced by a furious one towards his rival.

"Hey, wha- back off! This is (name), my spouse!" Although the countryman flinched a little at the stranger's harsh tone, he stood his ground and gave him a firm shove on the chest. The stranger remains immovable.

"Yours?! The fuck are you talking about, asshole?! She's mine!" Like a rabid canine, the stranger bared his teeth at Montgomery as he raised the volume of his voice once again.

Bewildered, your temporary protector matched his energy in his rebuttal, "Cyprus, What are you talking about?! They're-"

"I'll fucking kill you, Montgomery." The growl from the stranger, who you now know as Cyprus, was guttural, full of hatred. So much vitriol that you didn't know was possible to fit in just five words. You watched Cyprus raise his fist, ready to strike.

But it came to a grinding halt when you took the initiative to put yourself between the two men. Cyprus parted his lips in surprise, and soon came the pain, visibly written all over his handsome, yet intimidating face. Cyprus looked betrayed and unbelievably hurt that you chose to defend the other person. You almost felt bad about it.

"Why..." Cyprus lets out a shaky whisper directed to you as he loosens his stance.

"Listen, I don't know what stunt this damn house is pulling on us now. But this is my spouse, my (name)! They can't speak, and they can't remember a god damn thing!" Montgomery positioned himself in front of you again, having a hand to protectively push your body against his.

And then, silence. Not for a short while either.

No one dared to move or say anything else. Montgomery's breath was still a little erratic from the adrenaline rush, yours were bated, and Cyprus's countenance turned utterly unreadable.

Eventually, a door appeared nearby. Weirdly though, it's smaller than a standard one. You don't think any of the men could fit through it comfortably. You don't think you can even go through it without crawling on your hands and knees.

Montgomery saw that too, and with gentle pushes, he ushered you away. "Let's go, sweetheart."

It was a mistake for both you and Montgomery to turn your backs on Cyprus, hoping that it would reduce his aggression.

Instead, Cyprus's arm shot out to clamp down on yours. He yanked you behind him and gave Montgomery a bullying shove in the chest.

"What are-!"

A sickening crack reaches your ears as Cyprus's knuckles collide against Montgomery's face. The first punch thrown was so powerful that it almost flung the victim's body away, luckily, he kept his balance, albeit wobbly, and while groaning in pain.

Montgomery didn't get a chance to recover from the hit or even finish his groan before Cyprus swung his leg and slammed it on his stomach, expelling the air and some mucus out of Montgomery's lungs.

The experienced fighter then dug his fingers around his weaker opponent's neck, dragging him like a rag doll as he made his way to the door.

Cyprus then pulled the door open so harshly that you thought that it was going to fly out from its hinges.

For a second, you saw a glimpse of cutlery and some kitchen appliances through that "door".

It was a portal to a cabinet.

You were shouting and yelling upon realizing what Cyprus is about to do. But in the end, you were powerless to stop.

The fighter managed to cram a fully grown man who tends to construction sites for a living, a man who isn't too far off in height from him, into an opening the size of a small moving box. It took Cyprus four to five forceful shoves to even get any part of Montgomery through the hole.

Cyprus then resorted to ramming Montgomery with his shoulder to try and hammer the poor man in. Each time, you heard a crack, louder than the last, as Montgomery was folded like careless laundry to fit through the hole.

The air was filled with your panicked screaming, Cyprus's concentrated grunts, the crunches from Montgomery back, and the creaking of the door hinges.

You couldn't take it, so you shut your eyes and cower in fear. Hoping that once that demon is done, he wouldn't notice your existence.

You refused to see the final scene, but you definitely heard a massive thud followed by the door slamming shut. Cyprus has succeeded in probably turning Montgomery into ground meat.

You heard him pant as he tried to calm down from all those explosive emotions he felt before.

"(Name)!" He barked.

You shivered, but you brought your head up to face him.

And the look on his face was terrifying. He was positively glowering in rage, with some veins visibly throbbing on his forehead.

But it wasn't directed at you. No, never at you.

There was a stray tear that beaded out of his eye, which he promptly wiped away. Cyprus then fixed his glasses before parting his lips to speak.

"You are going to fucking remember me." He moved closer. His tone was now cold and controlled. But he can never truly hide the hurt, especially in what he said next: