#pr!reader

The hallway outside the VIP lounge still smells like sweat, hairspray, spilled champagne, and ego. You shove the double doors open with both hands, the slam echoing loud enough to make a few crew members flinch from their seats.

“Jinx!”

She’s sprawled on a velvet couch like she’s the queen of a ruined empire, all glitter and eyeliner and zero remorse. You don’t know how she’s still smiling after what just happened. The show incident. The shouting match. The mic she nearly threw at Vi.

You storm toward her, ignoring the sidelong glances from assistants and event staff still pretending not to be eavesdropping.

She doesn’t even blink. Just props her boots on the armrest, upside-down and grinning like a menace. As if she's expecting this outburst from you. Cocky bastard.

“You know, if I had a dollar for every time you screamed my name—”

“—you’d be paying for the goddamn crisis PR team I had to hire after the last time you lost it in public!” you snap, jabbing a finger in her direction. “What the hell was that out there!?”

Jinx twirls a lollipop between her fingers like she’s twelve and invincible. “A family moment.”

“She bumped your shoulder.”

“She meant it.”

“She brushed you and you tried to bodycheck her in front of three different cameras and a live stream!” Your voice cracks as you throw your hands up. “You want me to lose this job? Because that’s the next step! I already had to fake two fucking apologies and bribe a damn blogger today!”

Jinx winks, her legs swinging off the couch with her elbows resting against her knees. “You’re so good at it though.”

“You’re going to be the reason I develop stress ulcers.”

“Could be worse,” she says, blowing a kiss. “Could be herpes.”

You let out a strangled sound.

That’s when you hear it—the quiet thud of boots on the hardwood near the door. You don’t need to look. You clocked her the second she walked in. Standing guard like she belongs in a damn action movie: arms crossed, black shirt stretched over muscle, one scarred eyebrow raised in calm observation.

Sevika.

Some newly hired personal security. Supposed to be here to “reinforce safety protocols and de-escalate threats.” Which, so far, you haven’t seen her do once. Considering that this is your first real encounter, her stance is a little intimidating. A little. You hadn’t spoken yet—not more than a nod when she was introduced earlier—but she’s been watching the room with that cold, unbothered stare the whole damn time.

You finally glance at her, jaw tight. “I assume you were hired to prevent a repeat of the Vi situation?”

Sevika doesn’t move. “Didn’t realize I was hired to babysit.”

Jinx loses it, nearly falling off the couch in laughter. You glare at both of them, pulse hammering behind your eyes.

“I don’t care what unresolved twin hell you two have going on,” you say, turning your focus back to Jinx. “The sponsors are jumpy. The label is breathing down my neck, and you guys haven’t even got halfway through your fucking tour yet! If I get one more email with the word rebrand, I’m going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

She rolls onto her stomach like a bored cat. “What happened to letting me be authentic?”

“Authentic doesn’t mean unhinged.”

“Pretty sure it does if you’re me.”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Unbelievable..”

You turn to leave—but Sevika shifts just slightly. She’s still leaning on the wall, but she subtly blocks the door with one arm, like she’s testing whether you’re going to keep unraveling.

You stop, your temper still burning like acid. “Something to add?”

She looks at you then—really looks. Not dismissive, not hostile. Just… assessing. Measuring the edge in your voice, the tight grip you still have on your clipboard, the wild mess of a job you’re doing to keep a whole brand duct-taped together.

“You good?” she asks, voice low and even. Not teasing. Just… steady.

You blink.

“…Yeah,” you say. “Totally thriving right now.”

She doesn’t smile, but something in her expression shifts. Like she’s seen this kind of pressure before, just not wrapped in eyeliner and a chaotic PR spin.

“You always this high-strung?” she asks, that same calm tone—but now with a little curiosity under it.

You bristle. “Only when I have to explain basic boundaries to a crazy grown ass woman.”

Jinx salutes from the couch.

Sevika tilts her head just slightly, that unreadable look still in place. “You hold it together better than most.”

You glance back at her, slightly narrowing your eyes. She’s unreadable. Solid. Completely unshaken by the chaos around her. And for some reason, that is the most unsettling thing of all.

“Yeah, well…” you mutter, pulling open the door. “Get used to it. This is only just a quiet night.”

You feel her eyes follow you out. And it’s not until the door swings shut behind you that you realize,

you're not entirely sure which one of them you should be more worried about.

──────────

You’re barefoot on a fake leather couch that squeaks every time you shift. Your heels are kicked off by the door, one of them scuffed—probably from when you chased Jinx off the fire escape earlier.

Your phone is at 6%.

The Notes app is open to an aggressively polite draft that reads:

“We’re aware of the situation that occurred between performers Jinx and Vi at tonight’s event. At this time, we…”

You delete the whole sentence in one angry swipe. This is fucking ridiculous. If Jinx just manages to keep her damn hands to yourself and her mouth shut, none of this would be necessary! You swear you’re going to grow gray hairs at this rate. With the two unhinged sisters going on tour. You had a feeling some shit was going to happen. Christ, this was only just the fourth show so far, and they have already messed up so much. But then again, who else would deal with their chaotic selves?

Regardless, a knock interrupts your train of thoughts.. Except not really. More like a dull tap tap against the open door frame.

You don’t look up.

“You're still here?” you mutter, thumbs pausing over the screen.

Sevika’s voice rumbles in like the bassline of a threat. Or a reassurance, “Didn’t hear an all-clear.”

You glance up. She's leaning in the doorway like she owns the place—jacket draped over one arm, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable. The overhead light hits her jaw just right. Of course it does.

“I didn’t realize I needed to declare the room emotionally decontaminated.”

Sevika walks in anyway.

She grabs one of the unopened water bottles from the counter, cracks it open, and drinks half without blinking. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to say anything. That silence is part of the intimidation package, probably.

You go back to the message:

“...mutual artistic tension between the performers is part of their established brand and we do not condone—”

No. God, no.

You throw your head back with a groan.

“I went to school for this,” you say out loud. “Media strategy. Corporate theory. Top of my class. And now I’m negotiating apologies between two adult women who threw mic stands at each other like they were on fucking Jerry Springer.”

Sevika huffs something that might be a laugh. “Sounds like you’re good at it.”

You glare at her over your phone. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“Nope.” She shrugs, then crosses to the armchair across from you and sits with the kind of heavy ease that only people like her can pull off. Like she's never once rushed a thing in her life. “Just calling it.”

You squint at her. “Do you even do anything? Or is looming your main job?”

“I stop things before they break,” she says, tone even. “You’re the one walking in when they’re already cracked.”

That hits. A little too accurately. Jeez she just started working too, you wonder how many similar scenarios she had seen compared to this. You go quiet. The only sound is the soft buzz of your phone warning you it’s now at 5%.

“I didn’t know about you until today,” you say finally, softer. “PR only told me after the Vi thing. That they were bringing in someone to... ‘manage conflict.’” You put the air quotes in hard.

Sevika nods once, unbothered. “They wanted someone who didn’t scare easily.”

You snort. “And yet you flinched when Jinx tried to light her setlist on fire.”

“That wasn’t flinching,” she says dryly. “That was calculating fire risk.”

You glance at her, then back at your phone, hiding a smile behind your knuckles. No, that wasn’t funny. Stop.

“I’m used to security being in the background,” you say after a beat. “Not...participating in group therapy by proximity.”

“You yell loud,” Sevika says. “Hard not to overhear.”

“That was just me being calm.”

She leans back a little, studying you. “Right. I’ll brace myself for when you’re actually pissed then.”

Another pause. Not awkward. Just...stretched.

You close the Notes app, giving up with a headline to fix the situation right now.

“They make me care too much,” you admit, voice quiet. “Jinx. Vi. All of them. And they don’t even know it. Or worse—they do, and they don’t care.”

You regret saying it the second it leaves your mouth. Shit, that made you sound vulnerable didn’t it? Worst part was they probably don’t even realize the amount of effort you put in just to keep their band going.

But Sevika doesn’t mock you. Doesn’t offer a half-assed platitude. She just nods, slow and steady, like she understands without needing to say it.

“You can’t fix people,” she says. “You just hold the line.”

You blink at her.

“I thought you weren’t here to give advice.”

“I’m not,” she says, standing again, stretching one shoulder with a quiet roll. “Just figured you looked like someone who needed to hear it.” She starts toward the door, jacket slung over her shoulder. But she stops before she leaves.

“You should plug in your phone,” she adds without turning around. “I’m assuming tomorrow’s gonna be worse.”

You smile despite yourself. “Thanks for the pep talk, Sevika.”

That scarred eyebrow lifts slightly. “Wasn’t one.”

Then she’s gone.

And you’re still sitting barefoot on a couch that smells like Jinx’s hairspray, staring at your phone screen, wondering what the hell just happened—and why it felt like someone finally saw you through all the damn chaos. Maybe she wasn’t so shady after all..

Actually, speaking of shady. Now you’re curious about Sevika, because she came out of nowhere earlier in the VIP room. A thought crosses your mind. You jump up to plug your phone in before it dies on you. Your phone has truly been through hell, at this point you need to be sponsored by high quality brands just to feel content.

Regardless, you grabbed your computer from your bag and went to sit back down on the fake leather couch, it giving that obnoxious squeak sound. You just rolled your eyes. Your fingers were quick to log in, as you clicked on a new browser typing in;

Sevika. Faultline security.

Nothing immediately comes up. You try just ‘Sevika’, and suddenly you’re scrolling through blurry photos: her towering outside venues, sunglasses on even at night, arms folded, always near chaos but never in it. One grainy paparazzi shot has her with her hand braced against someone’s chest—is that a Medarda? Anyways, she was holding her back mid-argument. The title reads:

“SECURITY OR BOUNCER BAE? WHO IS FAULTLINE’S MYSTERY MUSCLE?”

You chuckled, and kept scrolling.

She’s private. That much is clear. No Instagram, no interviews, no tags you can trace. But the fan forums are already on it. There’s a Reddit thread titled “Sevika thirst trap central” with hundreds of reposts.

You click it. Just for research. Obviously..

Clearly the entire page was just full of thirsty girls and possibly some blurry pictures here and there of Sevika. Eventually, you pause, thumb hovering over a photo of her from backstage—cigarette between her lips, arm slung over a crate like she owns the building. Professional interest, you tell yourself. But your stomach’s doing that thing.. and it shouldn’t. Ugh.

As you scroll, your thumb slows as you hit a post buried halfway down a forum thread titled "Faultline's Realest Ones". Most of it is memes and low-res gifs, but then— a user named spittinimage32 posts a screenshot of a blurred-out article, dated three years ago. The headline is cropped, but you can still make out part of it:

“...Security Contractor Under Investigation After Club Incident Leaves Two Hospitalized.”

Underneath is a zoomed-in still from grainy security footage. The photo quality is awful, but you recognize her—Sevika, unmistakable even in motion blur and shadow. Standing over a man doubled over on the pavement, one arm outstretched like she’s just landed a punch.

The caption under the post reads:

→ “Pretty sure this was her before she started working with musicians. Some private club Zaun. No charges were filed, but the story disappeared fast.”

You tap the article link. It’s dead. Damn, that’s some good management. Wish you had power like that.

Another comment below says:

→ “Medarda’s firm handled it. Probably paid the guy off.”

You stare at the screen, heartbeat picking up just slightly. The Medarda’s. They’re wealthy business owners, and wealthy like— dollar dollar bills wealthy and they don’t stop till they get what they want. This must’ve been serious, you think to yourself.

No official record. No explanation. Just that photo. Her fist. And two men in the hospital.

You suddenly remember how calm her voice was when she told you earlier, “I don’t step in unless I have to.”

Apparently, when she does, someone ends up in a trauma ward. But are you surprised? Not really. If she gets the job done then.. That's that. Although now you’re left wondering what truly happened in that situation.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You wake up to the buzz of your phone—fifteen unread messages, three voicemails and especially one from your boss saying ‘fix it’, then at least ten push notifications from media outlets.

“BREAKING: Vi Allegedly Wants Out of Faultline,” “Is the Band Imploding?” and your personal favorite, “PR Nightmare or PR Genius?”

You scroll faster, heart thudding. There’s multiple blurry shots of Vi storming off stage, Jinx yelling with a microphone in her hand as if she’s about to throw it, and somewhere in the background—your face, mid-horrified gasp. You try to breathe, but the headlines keep coming. Sponsors threatening to pull out. The tour manager "checking in." The label asks where your “statement” is. And all of this before coffee.

Fucking hell you expected this. After the whole chaotic mess from last night, you didn’t think it would be this bad. But this? This is beyond fucked.

You're not even dressed when the emails start rolling in—

"URGENT: Clarify band status." "What’s the narrative here?" "Is Jinx okay?" "Is Vi leaving?"

You throw your phone on the bed. Immediately regretting it, picking it back up.

Your team’s group chat is useless. Two interns are arguing over font sizes for the Instagram apology and your assistant is asking if she should cancel the shoot or wait for someone else to make the call. Not even that but when you call both Jinx and Vi, neither of them picks up. You’ve probably messaged them more than a dozen times, acting like a damn desperate ex.

They’re lucky the next show isn’t until three weeks. But that only means three weeks to fix all of this shit.

You’re now pacing your hotel room in a hoodie, coffee going cold on the counter. There are like five open tabs on your laptop, and every headline feels like another layer of anxiety pressing down. The one that sticks out the most to you:

“Insiders say PR is losing control.”

and only probably because they’re right. You are losing it.

You hastily get dressed, the least thing you're doing is only making yourself look neat with your hair up and your makeup done but barely noticeable. The shirt you have on feels like a damn compressor against your chest as if it's restricting you to breath, and your jeans— god you look and feel like a fucking mess.

──────────

You storm into the temporary backstage office at the venue from yesterday’s show, clipboard in hand and murder in your eyes. There’s a junior label rep there—smug, unhelpful, sipping a green juice and scrolling on their iPad. You ask if they’ve handled the sponsor callback list. They blink at you. “We’re waiting to see how the narrative evolves.” They pause before adding, “Oh and— we’ve lost two sponsors.”

That’s when it happens.

You scream.

Something about "narrative evolution" and "branding alignment" and “how this isn’t a goddamn improv troupe, it’s a multi-million-dollar tour and we are hemorrhaging public goodwill like a gunshot wound!” You’re near tears. Frustrated. Helpless. And fucking livid. You’re talking too loud, your voice is breaking, and nobody is doing anything.

The room goes quiet. People freeze. Hell, some even have the audacity to back out of the room from you.

Then—

A low voice from behind you cuts through the static.

“Hey.”

You spin around, breathing heavily, expecting more bullshit. But it’s Sevika. She’s leaning against the wall with arms folded, unreadable as always. Where the hell did she come from?

“You done yelling at the kid?” she says, calm. Not mocking. Just... grounding.

You blink. Realizing your hand—matter fact your whole damn arm is shaking. Your breathing’s off. Your face is most likely red.

She steps forward, slow, steady, and without touching you, positions herself between you and the others in the room. She says nothing else. Doesn’t need to. The tension starts to bleed out of the air.

Someone asks if they should reschedule the press call.

Sevika looks at them. Just looks.

They scurry out.

She turns back to you. “Come on. Breathe.”

You inhale. Exhale. You hate that it works. Hate more that she’s the only one who’s helped all day.

“I’m going to snap,” you whisper, not entirely joking, as your hands clenched into a fist.

“No,” she says. “You’re not. Because you’re the only one who knows how to keep this thing from falling apart. And you’re not about to give them the satisfaction of seeing you lose it.”

You’re still shaking, but her voice, low and steady, keeps you anchored. Your phone buzzes again. You silence it this time. You nod once. Just once. Enough to say; I’m still here.

And Sevika steps aside. Not leaving. Just letting you move forward again. But now with someone behind you who’s actually watching your back.

Eventually, you’re working with the other interns and your assistant to handle the chaos that is currently circulating around the damn internet. You decided to take on the press call only hoping this will smooth the headlines out for now. You still keep checking your phone just in case you get a message or a call from either of the sisters.

But you doubt that will happen.

Not really a choice made but it came to a conclusion that you have to take an overnight red-eye trip for a crisis briefing. Great. Just another thing to look forward to. You sighed softly, throwing your clipboard aside for now. The room had been emptied out for the day. You hadn’t even realized that you all were working the entire day to fix this mess.

You lean back against the couch, your head resting back staring at the ceiling. You felt the couch dip beside you, already knowing who it is.

You don’t bother to look.

“I’ll come with you,” Sevika says.

“There’s no need”

“I’m not asking, it’s protocol” she says in a tone that is non-arguable.

You scoff, slowly turning your head to look at her. But for some reason you don’t really mind that she’ll tag along with you. Infact you find it better that you have company rather than handling it alone, like always.

But seriously?

“Protocol my ass..” you muttered out, going back to gazing at the ceiling. But she didn’t say anything back.

You both knew it was her choice.

Before you knew it, you were in the car with her as she drove. The place was only just a couple hours from the previous show. Both your bags in the back as the car was silent throughout the drive. Some small talk here and there as she stopped for gas, and as well getting you some snacks. Other than that, the ride was silent.

Silence was slightly awkward though. Sometimes you’d catch her glancing at you, or vice versa. There was still tension from before. It wasn’t anything bad but— there was something lingering between you two. You couldn’t help but notice her wearing casual attire. The sleeve hugging against her biceps, the dark brown complimenting her skin color as her as the slight makeup she used on her face. Just some eyeliner and brown lipstick.

Yeah— you definitely couldn't deny it now. She was very attractive. Her sleek jaw, hair pulled back into a half up ponytail, the way her lips were the perfect amount of thickness, and those biceps— christ. You knew you were beyond screwed. She was beautiful, handsome even.

And you?

Probably not even her type regardless. Or so you thought.

“You think this crisis meeting will solve anything?” Sevika asks, breaking the silence and odd tension from your trance.

You sighed from exhaustion before responding, “The best that will come out of it right now will probably be controlling the headlines and to avert their attention from Jinx and Vi to something else. Probably the next show or something..” you pause, rubbing your temples before continuing, “This will only be properly fixed once they get their shit figured out. And to answer their damn phone calls.”

You checked your phone to see if either of them had texted, but nothing. You sighed, setting your phone down.

“You’ll figure it out” She says after a beat, glancing at you.

“Yeah I’m the only one who ever does” You retorted, scoffing as you met her eye for a moment.

Even though it wasn't loud, you heard her chuckle under her breath. Your lips quirked from amusement hearing that from her. You eventually look away as you two fall into silence again. Comfortable silence.

──────────

You’ve both just endured a brutal crisis meeting. You're exhausted, emotionally fried, but still high on tension. Sevika’s been calm the entire time—cutting through the bullshit in the room when you couldn’t, quiet when she needed to be, but fiercely in your corner.

You’re both walking into the hotel, late-night check-in, bags slung, the hallway quiet.

You walked up to the front desk, giving the receptionist your last name that you booked the rooms under.

“Looks like we’ve got you down for just one deluxe king suite!” the lady behind the desk replied cheerfully as she prepared the card for you.

You blink.

“That better be a mistake” You say, staring at the receptionist lady with a deadpan stare.

“Sorry honey, we’re fully booked tonight otherwise” She had replied, sliding the key to you on the desk.

Are we fucking serious.. you think to yourself.

You slowly turn to Sevika with an unreadable look. She raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

“Fucking perfect,” You muttered under your breath.

The check-in desk had one job. One. You blink at the concierge like they just slapped you.

“There were supposed to be two rooms by the way,” you say, tone brittle enough to cut tile.

The receptionist gives you that polite corporate shrug that means “not my problem.” You don’t even have it in you to argue. Not after the crisis meeting that felt more like a firing squad. Not after watching half the label toss blame back and forth while you took notes on how to be their next scapegoat. Not after Sevika said absolutely nothing the entire time but still managed to make you feel like someone was in your corner.

Now this? One room. One bed. You feel the eye twitch coming on.

“Whatever,” you mutter, snatching the keycard and stomping toward the elevator. Sevika follows. Silent. Heavy boots. Calm shadow. It shouldn’t make your skin burn hotter, but it does.

You don’t speak again until the hotel door swings shut behind you.

And then—you explode.

“Two rooms! Two. That’s all I asked for. Not world peace. Not someone’s kidney. Just two fucking rooms!”

Your heels hit the floor hard. You toss your bag onto the bed—the one bed—and just stand there for a second, teeth gritted. Sevika closes the door behind you with that quiet, deliberate calm she always has. Doesn’t say anything. Just watches.

“And that meeting?” you scoff. “They want a rebrand. They think Vi might go solo. They think I’ve lost control.” You turn around, anger rising like a wave. “What am I supposed to do? Photoshop a damn friendship back together!?” You gesture wildly around the room.

Sevika is leaning against the door now, watching you pace like a hurricane in heels. She raises an eyebrow. Still leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Shrugs a little. “You handled it.”

“Bullshit. I’m dangling by a thread,” you snap, voice tight. “I’m fucking done. I’m trying to put out fires and you’re just, what, always just fucking standing there? With your one-word replies and your constant brooding like a hot, grumpy—”

She steps forward. Not fast. Just enough to break the space between you. You stop mid-rant.

“You think I don’t see it?” she says, voice low. “You holding it all together. No one thanks you. No one listens. And they’d all fall apart without you since you’re the backbone of this entire band.”

Your breath catches. You don’t want that to land. But it does.

Your lip curls like you’re about to say something biting—but it falters. Because Sevika’s close now. So close. And the silence between you feels… different.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter quietly.

“Like what?” she says.

“Like you can see through me.”

“Maybe I can.”

You’re still fuming. But it’s twisted now—burning hot under your skin in a different way.

She looks at the bed. Then at you.

“We flipping a coin or...?”

“Fuck the coin,” you say, voice hoarse, “I’m too tired to care.”

You move past her like you’re going to grab something—but she grabs your wrist. Not rough. Just enough.

“You need to let it out,” she says. “Whatever it is.”

You look up at her. Chest tight. Anger still vibrating in your bones but buried under that — that need.

“Yeah?” you whisper. “And what are you gonna do if I do?”

She doesn’t answer. Because she's on you within seconds. Your back pinned against the hotel wall as her hand was on the back of your head to prevent it from hitting the wall too harshly. You let out a sharp gasp from the impact.

You both just stared at each other. The electricity crackling between you two. The moment felt like everything slowed down for a second. You stared into her eyes.

Then you surged forward.

Your mouth crashes into hers with all the fury of the day behind it—messy, desperate, teeth clashing. She catches you easily, hands gripping your waist, pinning them against the wall. Your hands were gripping her shirt tight, pulling her closer than she already is. You let your hand trail down her chest, letting them roam free. Your fingers pressing against the shirt as you felt the firmness of her stomach, trailing them down under her shirt—

Oh fuck.

The minute you felt her V line beneath your fingers you let out a moan into her mouth, one she quickly swallowed up in the filthy and greedy kiss you shared.

You gasp as she lifts you by your thighs, pinning you there. You wrap your legs around her instinctively, fingers tangled in her jacket as her mouth drags hot, slowing down your neck.

“Fuck,” you breathe, nails scraping along her shoulder. “This is such a bad idea.”

“Best one I’ve had all day,” she growls against your throat, biting down hard against your neck, erupting a strangled whine from the back of your throat.

You yank her shirt up, your hands finding skin—warm, solid muscle. She peels off your jacket without care, lets it fall. Her hands are everywhere: gripping, kneading, claiming. Your mind goes white.

Clothes hit the floor in frantic pieces. Your heels are thrown to the side of the room. The room’s too hot, your back hits the mattress, and she’s above you—hair falling into her face, pupils blown, looking at you like she’s about to wreck you.

“This is wrong” you mutter as your hands went down her back to grope her ass.

She groaned in response, her hips bucking closer to yours, “Then why aren't you stopping me?”

“I can’t” you whispered in her ear before pulling her into another filthy kiss. One that's messy, where your tongues are fighting for dominance. Your hands rake in her hair, pushing it back slightly before giving it a sharp tug. In return her hand finds your tit and gropes it, making you moan pathetically into the kiss. You feel her smile against the kiss. That fucking menence smile.

You felt her hand go down your stomach as you felt her fingers spread through your soaked folds, eliciting a soft moan from you.

“You’re fucking soaked..” she mutters against your lips, glancing down between the two of you.

“Fuck you” you panted against her, lips swollen and red from the kiss as your eyes were already half lidded, gazing down at her neck.

“I’m trying” you hear her mutter before she dips her head down to your neck, tongue flicking out as she traced a wet path along her collarbone, her mouth latching onto an aching peak deliberately sucking at your skin that sends shivers down your spine.

“Sevika..” you breathe out as your fingers dug into her shoulders, with your back arching and trembling against her touch.

“Tell me what you need”

God its almost like you were drunk and were unable to fucking speak properly. But somehow, you managed.

“Your fingers—you. I don’t care” you managed to say helplessly as she obliged.

Her thumb slowly pressed against your clit as you felt her slip two fingers in your core. Your hips buck from the contact as your fingers dig against her shoulders, dragging them down your back.

“Oh god” you groaned as you bit at her neck which made her inhale sharply, her fingers curling in you that hit your sweet spot.

Oh fuck.

Your body doesn't know what else to do other than your hands profusely scratching at her back. Your hips buck trying to find friction but you fail, all you can do is just squeeze against her fingers. But it's not changing her speed which makes you writhe in place. “You're gonna cut my fingers off at this rate” she says, almost condescendingly, smirking against your skin.

“You— you’re not helping” you bite your lip to refrain yourself from whining for more, “go faster” you whisper, burying your face in the crook of her neck planting wet, open mouths kiss under her jawline.

“You're lucky you’re pretty” she whispered before another finger was slipping inside your drooling cunt. Her pace becomes faster as her fingers curl repeatedly against your g-spot which makes you choke on a moan, letting yourself succumb to the pleasure.

Your arousal that coated her fingers makes the most obscene noises that filled up the hotel room, Sevika’s own hips were grinding at your thigh as you both chased for your climax. Your mouths captured into a kiss as you swallowed each other's moans, you propped your leg up as you felt the slick from her pussy against your thigh.

Your hand found their way to her swollen nub of her clit, with your touch being firm and insistent as you kept rubbing hard and fast. Which had added another layer of pleasure and desperation in the movement of Sevika’s hips grinding against your thigh.

“fuck— keep it like that. Just like that baby” she growls near your ear as you feel her pump her fingers in and out of you quicker.

“Sev— Sevika!” you almost fucking screamed her name out as your eyes fluttered for a moment from the pleasure. Your back arched from her touch as your free hand pushed her hips down against your thigh as the other rubbed vigorously at her clit. The minute you chased your orgasm, your hips bucked in her hand as you clenched tightly around her fingers, with you moaning her name from exhaustion at this point.

Her fingers were still curled inside that wet pussy of yours as she kept grinding against your thigh, her movements becoming sloppy as leaned her forehead against your shoulder.

“Shit..” Sevika moans against your ear which makes you clench around her fingers again as her words are followed by a few more curses as she shivers out her orgasms.

Her fingers slowly pulled out of your dripping cunt, retreating them back to her mouth, licking every drop.

“Fuck, you taste just like I imagined..” She says hoarsely before capturing your lips in another kiss, this one being more sloppy as you taste yourself. Your hands went to her neck as she flopped beside you on the bed. Legs tangling with each other capturing yourself in a moment of bliss and the aftermath of such pleasure, lost in each other's arms.

Eventually you two pulled away from each other panting, her arm around her waist pulling you chest to chest.

“I still hate this room,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen.

She huffs something like a laugh, brushing her knuckles down your thigh.

“Not how it sounded five minutes ago.”

You roll your eyes. But you don’t pull away.

“This doesn’t mean I like you.”

“Sure,” she says, dragging her mouth lazily across your shoulder. “That’s why you’re still shaking.”

You shove her, half-hearted.

She doesn’t move. Just smirks.

You hate that she’s right.

“What does that do?” He asked then, slipping a little further down in the bed and slipping the bookmark you had made him between the pages of whatever history book he had managed to pick up. 

“Just keeps my hair soft,” you told him calmly, shrugging as you shook your hair out a little and then put the top back on the container and pushed it back into its place on the vanity. Your vanity. The one he had added to his bedroom for you, a silent action that you had simply walked in to discover one day. 

“Is that what makes your hair smell so lovely then?” He asked teasingly, smiling when you turned back to look at him with your own bright eyes and bashful smile. 

“One of many things,” you giggled a little, moving onto the heat protectant that you sprayed all over and gently glided through the strands. 

“And this?” He asked, rubbing his face a little as he tilted it to watch you. 

“Heat protectant, so that the blow drying doesn’t damage it too much,” you replied, then you picked up said machine and began shaking your hair out along with it. 

Baelor just sat there and watched you, the way you twisted side to side, pressed the thing near your scalp to get your hair properly dry, ran your fingers through it to separate or collect the strands. He had a small smile on his lips, as if he was purely and utterly content, and he only looked away to abandon the book on his nightstand. 

“Are you just going to watch me?” You asked him softly, eyes a little shy, cheeks a little hot. You glanced at him in the mirror and he was serenely laid in the bed, much lower than when you had started your whole routine fresh from the shower. 

“Mmm, yes,” he hummed, almost laying down now, raised just so at his shoulders. He ran his fingers along the duvet, just something to do with his hands as he kept his eyes on you. “You’re very enchanting.” 

You scoffed at that, shaking your head and turning away, but he caught your beaming smile in the mirror, the sparkle in your eyes. He watched you squirt something into your hands and then begin running it along the ends of your hair. 

“What’s that?” He asked softly, mouth wide over a yawn. 

“Hair oil, just for shine. I think this is probably what makes my hair smell “lovely” as you put it,” you answered, finally finished with your steps. He nodded, blinking slowly. 

You untucked the towel from around you and let it slip to the floor, grabbing his shirt off the vanity bench and slipping it quickly over your head. Again he watched, the smooth motions of the fabric, the movement of your breasts in the mirror, and when you sighed again, stretching your limbs, he beckoned you to bed. 

You happily followed, switching off the lights at the wall and allowing only the lamps to light your way around. You slipped under the covers, sighing at the softness and the caress of it, and then quickly tucked yourself into his side, snuggling your face against his chest. 

His skin was warm and he smelt exactly like it, clean and soft and himself. He instantly wrapped an arm over your shoulders and held you close, and his other hand came up to gently stroke your hair. It was an instant trick to get you to sleep. 

“Mmm,” you hummed happily, smacking your lips a little and then burrowing your face further into his chest. “I love you so much,” you sighed, kissing him softly on the pec muscle. He smiled against the top of your head, kissing you there in return. 

“I love you the most.”

Baelor smiled kindly at the reporter across from him, shaking his hand as they both sat down and got comfortable in their chairs. You watched everything with a careful eye, glancing up from your phone every few seconds to make sure everything was going smoothly. 

This reporter had done an interview with him before, they were familiar and on good terms it seemed, so you could breathe a sigh of relief. Despite how authentic Baelor wished to be, politics was a perspective game. You could never be too careful with reporters and the kinds of questions they asked. While Westeros had definitely improved since the days of the monarchy, there was still odd sentiments about foreigners, particularly Dornish people, and this administration always needed to look polished and controlled. 

Baelor looked perfectly relaxed though, you thought as you slipped your phone into your pocket and crossed your arms tightly from your position off-camera. His hair was combed back neatly as usual, his shirt and blazer pressed to the neatest smoothness, his trousers sleek lines and his belt shiny and perfect. He sat casually with his leg crossed, his hands folded loosely in his lap, his signature rings shining prettily in the light. Gosh, you’d never seen a man look so well put-together. It should not have had as much of an effect on you as it did. 

“Welcome, Mr President, thank you for joining us today.” 

“I’m happy to be here, thank you for having me.” 

“You have officially passed one hundred days in office, and many would say they have been a marked success. How would you view your progress thus far?” 

“I often tell my team to appreciate your successes but never lose sight of the work that remains to be done. I think this is an apt description for my time in office as well.” Baelor smiled kindly at the reporter and relaxed further into his seat, his foot moving a little. 

“Well said, Mr President. Let’s talk about these successes then…” 

The interview continued on smoothly, a respectful back and forth analysis on Baelor’s work and his plans for the future. You settled down in your chair behind the camera, sending regular updates back to Dana about how it was going, and noting anything you would need to feed back to Baelor when you could. 

“How about we take a short break here?” The camera man cut finally cut in, waving his hand around to different team members and smiling kindly at the reporter and the President. “We need to adjust some of the lighting and mics a little and then we can start again.” 

The hustle and bustle of a filming set began anew, people moving around to the lighting fixtures, carts rolling behind the cameras and an endless hum of chatter beginning again. The reporter excused himself to use the bathroom and you hopped up from your chair, quickly making your way over to Baelor. He smiled as you approached, his eyes softening as he watched you come over to him. He sat up a little straighter as you politely bent down in front of his seat and began speaking quietly. 

“Everything alright, sir?” You asked, smiling softly at him as you grazed your eyes over him. 

“It’s going well, I think, don’t you?” He asked in return, and you smiled a little wider, nodding appreciatively as you reached out before pausing and looking at him in question. 

“May I?” You asked softly, gesturing towards his mic and lapel. 

Baelor’s heart quickened a little and he nodded, watching you carefully as you licked your lips and began adjusting his mic to hide it a little better at the collar of his shirt. Your hands shook a little, but you managed to get the clip properly hidden beneath his collar. 

“How have I been doing then?” He asked softly, his breath brushing lightly over you. You had not realised how close you were kneeling, and you shivered a little, the tremble in your hands getting worse. You smoothed down your fingers over his collar, trying to smile and answer without combusting. 

“Very good, sir,” you answered breathily, your hands moving to his lapel pin. The three headed dragon had gone a little wonky as the interview had continued, and you rested one hand on his chest to flatten the suit jacket out as you twisted it to face upright again. 

Baelor watched you with that careful, piercing gaze of his. He had such alive eyes. Though you could never tell what exactly he was thinking, you could tell that he was examining you, that he was noting every detail in front of him, and it made you hyperaware and squirmy. 

“Just good?” He asked teasingly, leaning in a little closer to you, and your breath hitched as his clean scent of detergent and cool cologne hit your nose. 

“I said very good,” you retorted, smiling a little despite the nerves, giggling quietly when a hint of satisfaction touched his grin. “You were very eloquent, and you’ll come off well when this comes out, that’s for sure. And your answers are genuine, people will be able to tell that you believe in it. There’s a reason they voted for you, and they’ll be able to see that. I know I do,” you shrugged casually, as if you hadn’t just spun him around completely. 

Baelor’s smile widened further, unabashed and honest, as if he had received no greater compliment than this. His palms flattened on his knees where he had brought his leg down so he could lean closer to you, and you watched his strong fingers curl over the joint and press a little into his slacks. 

“Can I fix a bit of your hair really quickly?” You asked then, frowning a little and looking up. 

“Of course,” he responded quietly, as if it was absurd that you had even bothered to ask. You reached up and gently stroked over a portion of the soft strands, feeling the softness and ensuring they were sat down neatly again. (In truth, his hair had been perfectly fine. You had only been looking for an excuse to touch it, to remain so close and touching him, just to feel his hair). 

“There, looking perfect again,” you sighed happily, bringing your hands back down and giving him a onceover. He smirked a little at that, leaning back and crossing his leg once again, but looking down at you with soft eyes. 

“Thank you, Y/n,” and his voice was so soft, so kind, so sincere, that it made your heart thud excitedly and the blood rush in your body. Your smile was uncontrollable, your eyes shiny as you beamed at him and nodded in response. 

As you began to stand, he reached out a hand to you, offering it without expectation, and you looked up into his pretty eyes, one blue and one brown, both warm and kind. You hesitated one second, not because you didn’t want to, but because you were unsure how you could go back to your life knowing what it felt like to hold his hand. But you placed your palm against his, thumbs interlocking firmly, and allowed your weight to press there as you got up again. His hand was warm, as you had expected it to be, smooth and soft in a way that made you wonder if he used handcream or he was just naturally perfect. You suspected the latter though perhaps the options were not mutually exclusive. 

“Thank you, sir,” you responded, smoothing off imaginary creases from your trousers as you stood just in front of him, readying to head back to your place behind the camera. 

He smiled at you once more, relaxing back into his seat, and he watched you the whole way back. Even when you sat down once more, you felt his eyes on you, and your heart could not handle beating at such a speed for such a long time. You smiled at him, waiting for his gaze to move away, but it only left when the reporter returned and called his attention once more. 

And though you finally felt like you could breathe again, you also wished that he would look at you again, put that intense gaze back on you and never look away. Oh you were so far gone…

You should get up. You should be taking a shower. Responding to the twenty-something unread emails, and starting to prepare a revised crisis plan, responding to your texts, seeing if either of the sisters had contacted you in any form. You should be working. Or worrying. Or literally anything else but letting your bare thigh brush hers and thinking about round five. Or six? You don’t even know.

You freeze, staring at the ceiling.

Bad idea. You glance at her instead. Worse idea.

She’s awake. Of course she’s awake.

Sevika blinks slowly, the same unreadable look on her face she wore last night—right before she had you gasping into her shoulder. Her voice is low and maddeningly casual when she says, “You always bite when you’re stressed?”

You shove at the blankets and swing your legs over the side of the bed like you weren’t just perfectly comfortable two seconds ago. Her morning voice wasn’t helping either.

“You always talk after sex?”

“Only when I want someone to panic.”

You spin around. “I’m not panicking.”

She tilts her head. “You’re standing there in my shirt and one sock. Want to try that again?”

You glance down.

Fuck. You are wearing her shirt. And her sock..? When the hell did that happen? Christ you must’ve been a mess last night.

You groan and start digging through your duffle bag like it might magically fix your life, but a clean pair of clothes would help a little right now. 

Your phone buzzes. And keeps buzzing.

17 messages. 5 missed calls. 1 text message that notifies you right as you look at your phone, from your assistant; “Are you alive??”

That’s when the knot of dread sinks into your gut and stays there. You unlock your phone and immediately wish you hadn’t.

“Rumors Swirl: Vi Walking Away From Faultline?”

“Mystery Woman Seen With New Band Security After Hotel Check-In — Who Is She?”

You stare at the blurry shot—you, checking in last night. Sevika behind you. The caption reads;

“Hotel Hook-Up or Security Breach? Fans React to Spicy New Theory.”

You slam the phone facedown on the desk, groaning out. “We’re screwed!”

Sevika’s still lying in bed— still naked, arms behind her head like this is just Tuesday. “You’re screwed,” she says. “I just stood near you.”

“All we did was just check in!” you say exasperatedly with your hands flailing, “what do they mean ‘hotel hookup’” you say quoting hard, imitating the title with a deeper voice.

All Sevika did was just shrug. Which made you groan in annoyance.

“I specifically booked two rooms!” you say glaring at her.

“Clerical error,” she offers. “Or fate.”

You throw a sock at her. “Fate? Really?”

She catches it with one hand. “Worked out, didn’t it?”

You freeze again. Because yeah—it did. And that’s the problem. And unfortunately, you are one to heavily deny things like there's no tomorrow.

“Like hell it did, it was a mistake” you pause before looking at yourself in the mirror, wiping at your neck as if it will magically erase the damn marks she created on your from last night, “Do I look like I got railed in a hotel room last night?”

“Yes,” Sevika says, completely unbothered. “Fix your hair.”

You groan. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” she says. “You’re just panicking.”

You zip up your bag with too much force. “I have to go back for another crisis meeting in thirty minutes and I am trying very hard not to think about the fact that I orgasmed three times and now I have to sit across from Vi’s manager! Who never listens to me!”

Sevika finally gets up—pulls her jacket off the floor and tosses it your way as she mutters under her breath, “Could’ve been four..”

You whip around. “Do you want me to combust?”

“Little bit,” she admits, with a shrug.

You just balled up her jacket— or attempted too and threw it at her face. But of course she caught it, this time with a knowing smirk. “Ridiculous..” you mutter under your breath as you grab your clothes from your bag to go and change in the bathroom. You leaned against the bathroom counter as you looked at yourself in the mirror. 

“This was just a one time thing!” you call out from the bathroom as you glanced at yourself in the mirror. You get no response back. Yeah. Quitting seems like a great option right now.

                                        ──────────

The car is silent.

Another crisis meeting that didn’t even go as planned. But what’s new?

You’re slouched in the passenger seat, hands shoved under your thighs to keep from texting something stupid—or worse, scrolling Twitter to see if anyone’s figured out the whole one room, one bed situation. Even though that’s just you panicking and overthinking about a nonexistent situation… right?

Regardless, you don't even look professional. You’re wearing a hoodie, trying to hide the marks she had created on your neck from last night. Your baggy jeans make you look just as shabby. You two left a little late from the hotel just because you had done a full face of makeup today to make up for the shabby outfit. But at this point, who even cares.

Sevika drives like she fights; calm, steady, no hesitation. One hand on the wheel. The other resting near the console, fingers tapping idly like she’s tracking the rhythm of your breathing. The silence is getting too loud in your head.

You try to look out the window to avoid looking at her hands. Although, you couldn't help but steal a glance at her, fingers twitching. She’s got that same unreadable expression she always wears—like the whole world’s just background noise she’s already calculated a way through. 

It's like you want to say something but you have a strong feeling that if you do, it’ll make things awkward. Again. But considering you two still have at least half an hour of the ride left till you two get back to the makeshift office for now, you couldn’t help but think back to articles you found about Sevika when you had searched her up. And before you knew it, your mouth spoke before you could even think.

“..Was it really a Medarda?”

She doesn’t even blink. Her jaw shifts, just slightly.

“I mean,” you add, suddenly wishing you’d kept your mouth shut as you mentally facepalm yourself for being stupid, “That’s what the forums said. The article. I didn’t even know who she was at the time, but now I keep seeing her face next to yours on old paparazzi leaks and—”

“You looked me up.” Her voice cuts in, not surprised. Not mad. Just confirming what she already figured.

You hesitate. “Yeah. After the VIP room… after the office. I was curious.”

A long beat of silence stretches between you.

Then finally, Sevika exhales. The kind of breath that sounds like she’s almost amused.

“Maybe,” she replies evenly. “Does it matter?”

“It does,” you press, heart thudding. “Because if it was—”

She cuts you off with a soft chuckle, the first real sound she’s made all morning.

“Last time I mixed business and pleasure,” she says, eyes glancing briefly in the rearview mirror, “it ended in blood and a lawyer.”

You blink, as you stare at her profile, stunned by the flat delivery.

“Is that supposed to turn me off?”

Her mouth twitches, just barely.

“Did it?”

You cross your arms and look out the window. “Not answering that.”

“Didn’t think so.”

And just like that, the silence returns—but now it crackles with everything unsaid. Until your phone rings. You were quick to pick it up from the cupholder in the middle, glancing at the caller ID. And surprisingly—

It’s Vi. Sevika sees the name flash across the screen and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

You answered the phone call, with your voice stern as if you were scolding your own child, which at this point— you kinda were. 

“And where the hell have you been?” 

There’s a beat of silence on the other end before Vi responds, voice dry. “Good morning to you too.”

“Don’t you ‘good morning’ me. I’ve been juggling a PR disaster, your sister almost lit the stage on fire, sponsors are on my ass, and no one has heard from you or Jinx for two days.”

Vi sighs. “I needed space. That not allowed anymore?”

You rub your temple, suddenly aware of Sevika’s silent presence beside you as she drives. She hasn’t looked over, but you know she’s listening.

“Space doesn’t cancel contracts, Vi. Space doesn’t fix headlines. You dipped in the middle of a damn hurricane, and I’m the one mopping up your fucking wreckage. Again.”

Vi’s voice softens a notch. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that.”

You exhale through your nose, still wound tight. “I can’t keep this whole band from burning down if you just leave out of nowhere, Vi. You were supposed to stay. Now the whole damn internet is speculating if you’re going to leave the band after the shitshow you had pulled on stage!”

Were you being a little extra? Yes, but she deserved it. You are going through absolute hell right now trying to fix the band’s image.

She’s quiet for a second. Then, “You sound exhausted.”

You glance toward Sevika’s hands on the steering wheel. Steady. Sharp-knuckled. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Vi mutters, tone unreadable. “You always are.”

Vi ends the call before you can respond. You quickly send text message to the sisters;

[9:22] “your asses better be at the office before 10.” “if neither of you two are there I'm cancelling the next promo run.

…No replies. Typical.

You then drop your phone onto your lap, jaw clenched, chest tight. Letting the phone slide off your lap, tension still burning under your skin. There's a thick beat of silence in the car.

“She's got great timing” Sevika mutters as her eyes are forward, only casting you a short glance, “Right when you’ve nearly bled yourself dry fixing shit she walked away from.”

You just sighed in response, your mind spinning from all the stress you’re going to be met with the minute you step into the makeshift office. 

“…At least I took my anger out yesterday.”

She doesn’t answer right away. But you see her grip shift on the steering wheel. Like she remembers. All of it.

Her voice is lower when it comes this time. “Yeah. You did.”

And fuck, you shouldn’t like the way she said that. You just crossed your legs, leaned against the arm rest as your gaze shifted out the window. Silently praying that this will eventually be smoothed out. Hopefully sooner rather than later. 

The venue looks different in daylight — like seeing a nightclub with the lights on. All the makeup smeared, all the wires were exposed. The glamour is gone, and what’s left is business. You push through the back entrance with Sevika in tow, your phone still warm in your pocket from the texts you sent earlier.

The makeshift office is barely a room, folding tables, scattered paperwork, coffee that tastes like regret. But it’s quiet. Too quiet. Until you open the door and there they are.

Jinx is perched sideways in a chair, legs dangling, spinning a pen like she’s on trial for murder and still thinks it’s funny. Vi’s got her arms folded, leaning against the wall like she’d rather be anywhere else. Her hair black on the roots as it slowly fades to her original pink hair color. They're on opposite ends of the room — not speaking, not looking at each other. The air between them is thick with something old and ugly. Of course it is. 

You stop just over the threshold. Sevika stands behind you like a shadow, silent, observant, not even pretending not to be watching everything. She stands against the closed door, typical bodyguard style.

“Great,” you say, voice flat. “You both showed up. That’s progress. Maybe next time you can do it without trying to kill each other on livestream.”

Neither of them speaks.

You exhale slowly through your nose. You’re tired. You’re still sore in places you shouldn’t be thinking about in a room like this. And you don’t have time for theatrics — not theirs, not yours. No bullshit today.

“Sit.” you mutter, pointing towards the couch in front of you.

Vi doesn’t move, but her jaw flexes. Jinx huffs something under her breath that sounds like “bossy” but sits anyway. You raised your eyebrow at Vi. 

Reluctantly, she sat down. Keeping her distance from her sister. 

You drop your bag, slap your clipboard down, and fix them both with a look that would flatten lesser egos. “We’re going to fix this,” you say, “because I am not about to spend another twelve hours scrubbing your mess off social media with bubblegum statements and fake bribes.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Jinx smirks.

Vi rolls her eyes.

You feel your blood pressure spike. Sevika still hasn’t said a word — just leans against the door like she’s weighing exactly when to step in. You’re not even sure if it’s to keep them from each other, or to stop you from exploding.

Eventually, you’re mid-rant, pacing like a woman on the edge of a nervous breakdown held together with concealer and sheer rage.

“This tour is not a playground. It’s not a therapy session. It’s a contract. You two don’t have to love each other, but you will show up, stay civil, and stop throwing goddamn microphones in front of sponsors.”

Jinx kicks her feet a little where she’s perched. She tilts her head looking at you, probably not even listening.

“Huh.. You look different today.” she says, almost as if she was assessing you.

 “You’re glowing. Like—really glowing. Skin all dewy. Little post-apocalyptic zen in your walk.” She gestures vaguely. “Did someone get laid or am I just having a stroke?”

You pause, hand still half-raised with your notes. “Excuse me?”

You literally wore makeup for a reason. How was it still obvious?

She grins slowly, eyes raking over you like a bratty little sister clocking something no one else has dared to say out loud. You open your mouth to deflect, but—

“Jinx.” Vi’s voice is low, warning. A sharp look thrown sideways. “Don’t.”

Jinx glances at her. Then back at you. Then, slower—her eyes slide toward Sevika, who’s leaning against the far wall, impassive as always.

A pause.

“...Oh.”

“Jinx,” Vi repeats, this time firmer.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jinx says, smirking. “I just connected a few dots, and they happen to spell ‘mystery muscle.’”

You stare at her flatly. “You done?”

“For now,” she sings with a knowing smile, kicking her feet up.

Vi doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t look away from Sevika for a while. You don’t know what she’s thinking—but it’s not nothing. Sevika doesn’t flinch under the scrutiny. Doesn’t move. She just raises one eyebrow, subtle and slow, as if she’s daring them to push it.

No one does.

You clear your throat and slap your notes on the table. “Okay. Let’s talk about the trainwreck of this week’s press coverage.”

Jinx sighs, dramatically. Vi exhales through her nose. And Sevika stays quiet—but you can feel her eyes on the back of your neck, steady and unshakable. And right now, that’s the only tension you’re willing to deal with.

“First of all, would you two please tell me why the hell you two fought like that on stage?” you ask, looking at them expectantly.

“It was a family mom—”

“—say that one more time Jinx I’m leaving this for the both of you to clean up by yourselves.”

You were met with silence. That's what you thought.

Until Jinx mutters, barely holding it back, “Vi actually wants out.”

The words hit like a punch. Vi’s face drains of color, her jaw clenched tight enough to crack bone.

“Fuck you,” she spits, venom dripping from every syllable. “You don’t know shit.”

Jinx sneers back, eyes blazing, voice low and harsh, “Oh, I know more than you think. You want to run away like everyone else who’s ever left us, sis.”

Vi’s fists curl into trembling balls, rage and pain warping her expression. “Why the hell can’t you ever stay in your goddamn business!”

You jump in, voice cutting through the storm like a blade. “Stop this before you destroy everything. You two are breaking apart in front of everyone, and I’m supposed to fix it all?”

Both sisters glare, breathing heavy, hurt raw and exposed. But neither speaks. The silence now heavy with everything unsaid — old wounds ripped open, barely held together by brittle threads. Your heart skips. 

You force yourself to keep your voice steady. “Is that true, Vi? Do you really want to leave?”

Her eyes flash, defiant, maybe angry, but then something shifts. The fire in her demeanor dims just enough to reveal a flicker of doubt, of exhaustion. She exhales slowly, almost too quiet to hear, “I don’t know.”

You notice the subtle relaxation in her shoulders, the way her hands unclench. For a second, it’s like the storm inside her has paused, as if your presence gives her a fragile kind of calm. You want to reach out, to say something that could fix this, but you hold back. You’ve seen how delicate this balance is. How easy it is to push too hard.

Jinx glares at you both but doesn’t say a word. Vi looks away, the fight draining from her like a slow leak, leaving an ache you don’t quite know how to soothe. You realize you’re standing on the edge of something, maybe the end, maybe the chance to hold it all together.

And somehow, you know it’s not just the band you’re trying to save. It's their family too. You groan inwardly as you run a hand down your face, fuck me, you thought. Didn’t think you’d be holding a therapy session today. Just perfect.

This was way worse than you thought.

You let the silence settle for just a beat longer, heart pounding, before you speak again. Softer this time.

“…Why?”

Vi doesn’t answer right away. Her jaw tightens, and you can see the war happening behind her eyes. She hates being seen like this—vulnerable, undecided. But she’s already cracked open a little, and you’re not letting this go without understanding.

“I just…” Vi finally says, voice low and rough, “I’m tired.”

Jinx shifts in her seat, eyes narrowing. “We’re all tired.”

“Not like this,” Vi snaps, her volume rising before she catches herself. She turns to you, not Jinx, like you're the one she can be honest with. “It’s always something. A fight. A fuck-up. Another fire to put out. I didn’t sign up for this shit.”

“You signed up for a band,” you reply, not unkindly. “And then you stayed when it became more.”

Vi scoffs a little. “Yeah. And maybe I stayed for the wrong reasons.”

That hits something in Jinx—sharp and fast. “Oh, fuck off with that.”

“Don’t start,” you warn quickly, raising a hand.

Vi’s still looking at you, and her next words are so quiet you almost don’t catch them.

“I thought maybe if I held on long enough, it would start to feel like ours again.”

You blink. “Ours?”

She doesn’t explain. She doesn’t have to. You know she means her and Jinx. You know this was supposed to be something that tethered them to each other. But the tether’s fraying. Maybe it already snapped.

You inhale slowly. “So what—you’d rather leave than try to fix it?”

Vi flinches. And for the first time in this whole mess, she looks unsure.

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” she says, and suddenly she looks younger than she is. Tired. Raw. And somehow, still, that fragile peace in her posture only exists when she’s talking to you.

You nod slowly at Vi’s words, letting them hang in the air like the sting of alcohol on a fresh wound. There’s a beat of silence where no one breathes, and then your eyes flick to Jinx. She hasn’t said anything, but her knee is bouncing, her jaw tight.

“Jinx,” you say, not sharp—careful. “You want to tell me how you’re feeling about all this?”

She scoffs, looking away. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe betrayed, maybe a little stabbed in the back, maybe just great, actually.”

“Can we not?” Vi mutters under her breath, rubbing her temples.

“No,” you say, your tone firmer now, eyes on Jinx. “Let her talk.”

Jinx laughs, but there’s nothing light in it. “You want me to talk? Fine. I’ve been bending over backwards trying to hold this band image together. I’m the one always throwing myself into it. I give people something to talk about. I keep the fucking spark alive.” She turns to Vi, eyes burning. “And you—you just check out. You pull away. You don’t even try anymore.”

Vi exhales sharply, like she’s trying not to react. But Jinx isn’t done.

“You know what it feels like to keep showing up for someone who’s already halfway out the door? Who looks at you like you're a reminder of everything they regret?”

“Jinx—” Vi tries, but her voice falters.

“No, fuck that,” Jinx snaps, suddenly getting up and pacing. “You think I’m exhausting? Fine. You think I’m chaos? Sure. But don’t fucking act like I’m the reason this is hard when you haven’t been here in months, Vi.”

You watch her. And suddenly, it’s not about the press. Not the image. Not the next tour date or the PR crisis waiting in your inbox. It’s about two sisters who built something together, and are now quietly watching it rot from the inside.

“Jinx…” you say gently. She stops pacing but doesn’t look at you. “You’re scared she’s leaving. I get it. But you pushing harder isn’t going to make her stay.”

Her jaw clenches. “Then what will?”

You pause. Then quietly, “Letting her feel like she can stay without drowning.”

For a second, Jinx doesn’t say anything. Then she mutters, eyes fixed on the floor, “I just wanted it to feel like it used to.”

You nod. “Me too.. And I think I'm speaking for all of us” 

A beat goes by. The silence hangs just long enough for the emotions to settle. Neither of them is looking at each other now—Vi with her arms crossed tight like she’s holding herself together with sheer force, Jinx like she might blow a hole through the floor with just her stare. You shift in your seat, take a breath, and ask the question that’s been simmering in the back of your mind since last night.

“...Should I delay rehearsals?”

They both look up at you.

“What?” Vi says slowly.

“I mean it,” you say, firm but calm. “We’ve got three weeks until the next show. Enough time to breathe, maybe remember why you even want to be on stage together. But if I keep pushing you two through interviews, shoots, rehearsals like nothing’s wrong? It’s going to explode again—and next time, the whole world will be watching.”

Jinx groans and throws her head back. “So we go dark? Just vanish for a bit?”

You nod. “Low profile. No press, no new footage, no forced hangouts. I’ll put out a statement saying you're ‘recalibrating after a high-demand tour leg.’ Leave the fans guessing just enough to keep them hooked. You two? You figure your shit out.”

Vi's eyes are on you now, thoughtful. She hasn’t said no.

“And what if nothing gets figured out?” Jinx mutters.

“Then,” you say evenly, “we go into crisis plan B. But I’m not pulling that trigger until I know for sure you’re both done.” pausing for a moment, “but I know you two better than that. And I'm not giving up on my girls.”

Jinx and Vi gave each other a look, unreadable, only something sisters that close would understand.

Then, surprisingly—Vi nods. Just once. Slow.. A breath escapes her like she’s been holding it since last night. “…Three weeks,” she says finally.

Jinx crosses her arms, defiant. Vi looks at her. 

“And we try. Actually try. No more hiding.”

Jinx doesn’t respond right away—but she doesn’t argue, either. You meet both their eyes, serious.

 “Use it.”

They say nothing. But for the first time in hours, the air doesn’t feel like it’s about to combust. You rise, phone already buzzing in your pocket. 

“I’ll start writing the statement.”

You turn around expecting Sevika to still be standing by the door but— she's gone. You went to open the door as you heard Jinx and Vi silently talk behind you two before you were met with a voice that made you jump.

“Done?”

“Holy— God you fucking scared me Sev..” you mutter the nickname that comes out your name effortlessly without realizing it, with only her subtly raising her eyebrow at it but not commenting on it. You grab the door handle, giving the girls one last look before closing the doors looking back at Sevika.

 “And yeah, I’m done. Let’s go.” 

                                         ──────────

You close the hotel room door behind you and lean back against it like the weight of the day might finally fall off your shoulders if you just breathe deep enough.

It doesn’t.

The room’s quiet. No Sevika this time. No voices behind closed doors. Just the hum of the air vent and the soft buzz of your phone where you dropped it on the dresser.

You should feel relieved. The emergency statement is out—calm, clean, carefully vague. Fans are chewing it up like candy, dissecting every line with wild optimism. Headlines are smoothing over. The words “internal creative differences” are doing heavy lifting. You even got a thank-you text from the label. That should’ve felt like a win.

It doesn’t.

You sit on the edge of the bed, still in your hoodie, makeup scrubbed off, staring at the wall like it might offer answers.

Instead, your brain loops one thing; The way Sevika stood behind you earlier. Quiet. Solid. Unbothered while everything else burned. The eyebrow she raised when you accidentally called her Sev. The way she didn’t even bother to correct you.

You exhale hard and scrub your hands down your face.

This is bad.

Not the PR. Not the band. Not even the fan theories starting to bubble up about who you were seen walking into the hotel with last night. What’s bad is that all you want to do right now—after everything—is see her again. Hear her voice. Pick a fight just so she’ll push back. You hate that part of you is hoping she'll knock on your door.

Your phone buzzes once.

You blink. Lean forward. Grab it.

Unknown Number. The preview reads;

[11:13] “You still pacing the room, or are you finally breathing?”

You stare at the screen.

[11:14] “who is this?”

Even though you know who it already is.

“Guess.”

[11:16] “..how did you get my number?”

[11:17] “Your assistant gave up your number faster than I expected.” “Thought you'd be harder to get to.”

Great, now she’s in your head again, like she never left.

[11:18] “what do you want?”

This time she takes a few seconds.

“Just checking in “After last night.”

Your brain fills in the gaps. After last night could mean after you nearly lost your shit in the crisis meeting. Or after you screamed in the hotel room ranting about the two room bullshit. Or… after she had her hands on your thighs, her mouth on your throat, your fingers tugging her hair while you swore you didn’t want it again.

You bite your lip and type;

[11:20] “I’m fine. You don’t have to check in.”

A beat goes by. 

[11:22] “I’m still thinking about it”

Your heart flutters.

“about what?”

“You.”

You cursed silently to yourself. You told yourself it was a mistake. Something you two should’ve never done.  

[11:25] “that was a one time thing”

“You said that. I never agreed”

This time, you groaned audibly. Why the hell does she reply so fast! You set your phone down for a moment as you stare at the ceiling. This is wrong. She’s a bodyguard for Christ’s sake! She doesn’t deal with— PR people like you. Hell, especially not an unstable one. But before you know it, your fingers were typing,

[11:27] “what, you’re going to start quoting me now?”

“Only when you lie.” 

[11:28] “thought you said when you mixed business and pleasure, it ends up with blood and a lawyer”

She leaves you on read for a beat. Just long enough to make you second-guess sending it. Then the three dots blink back in.

[11:30] “It does.” “I’m still thinking about you anyway”.

You blink. Then another message follows.

“So either I’m stupid.” “Or you’re worth it.”

Your breath catches. And just like that, your whole body feels too hot again. Goddamnit!

[11:31] “this is wrong sevika”

“Then stop thinking about it.” “I won’t text again.”

And that should make it easier. It should.

..Yeah no, you’re fucked. Literally. This is wrong. You shouldn’t be doing this. Everything in your mind screams no, while your body is screaming yes. Certainly your fingers had another idea, obviously. 

[11:33] “room 723” “don’t knock”

You leave the door unlocked.

You sit on the edge of the hotel bed, palms flat on your thighs, trying to regulate your breathing, your heartbeat, your common sense. The room’s too quiet, the buzz in your skin too loud. You still taste that chaos from earlier—meetings, headlines, lies. The heat of her hands, the scrape of her voice in your ear when she said, “Best one I’ve had all day.”

You swore it would be a one-time thing.

That was before she texted. Before you replied. Before the lock clicked behind her, and you felt her presence like the pressure drop before a storm. The door shuts with a soft thud. And still, she doesn’t say a word.

She just walks in.

You don’t move. Neither does she. The air stretches tight between you, thick with everything unsaid. And then—Sevika stops in front of you, boots echoing on the hardwood. Her jacket is already off. She looks down at you like she’s deciding whether to ruin you again.

You look up at her as if your eyes were pleading her to.

Her voice is low, rough. “You sure?”

No,” you say. “But I still texted you.”

There’s a flicker in her expression, approval, hunger, something heavier— but she doesn’t move toward you. Not yet. She waits. You don’t move. You just breathe out,

“I’m tired,” you say.

“Then say no,” she murmurs.

You can’t. She knows you can’t. And that's what you hate.

You reach up first. Just a hand on her shirt. A fistful of cotton. Needing something real to hold onto.

“Don’t talk,” you say quietly. “Not tonight.”

Her mouth twitches like she might argue. But then—she nods once. Sharp. Controlled. And she sinks to her knees in front of you, chasing your gaze to make sure you’re looking at her. Her hands come to your thighs first, strong and steady, thumbs dragging up through the tension knotted in your jeans. She doesn’t rush, just watches your face as she reaches for your belt.

You inhale sharply. And then, slowly, you start to lean back back against the bed. Your palms brace against the mattress behind you, elbows locking, your legs parting further in silent invitation. Your hips lift just enough to meet her halfway—offering yourself without a word. As if you’re giving her permission to do as she pleases. 

You feel her fingers brush against the lower part of your stomach before she unbuckles your belt, slowly dragging your jeans off your waist, and soon meets the floor. 

Sevika starts slow.

Her mouth brushes the inside of your knee first, barely there, a whisper of contact that makes your breath hitch. Then another kiss, firmer now, heat blooming through skin that’s already too sensitive. She trails her lips higher, deliberately slow, as if mapping every inch like it's sacred ground.

Her tongue grazes soft against your skin, rough enough to make you twitch, to leave a ghost of her behind. Her hands are steady, calloused palms pressing down on your hips, holding you in place like you might slip from her grip otherwise. Then—her lips part. She presses a kiss just above the tender curve of your inner thigh, and you feel it all, the heat of her breath, the slight drag of her lower lip, the hunger buried just beneath restraint. You can feel her smirk against your skin when you exhale too sharply.

Another kiss, higher this time. Slower. Hungrier. She doesn’t rush.

She’s savoring you.

Her teeth scrape lightly, not enough to hurt—just enough to make your stomach twist. And then her tongue follows, lazy and warm and wicked, painting slow circles that don’t go where you need them most.

You shift under her. She tightens her grip.

“Still think this is wrong?” she murmurs, voice low against your skin.

But you don’t answer. Not with the way she kisses you like this. Like she’s making a promise with every press of her mouth—one that ends with you unraveling in her hands. Her mouth lingers at the inside of your thigh, teeth dragging just enough to make you twitch. Her breath is warm, dangerous. You don’t dare move. Not when every nerve is already begging for more.

Then slowly and deliberately, Sevika starts to rise. She trails up your body with unbearable calm, every shift of muscle and shadow making your skin tighten. Her hands plant firm beside your hips as she looms over you, her face inches from yours, eyes locked in.

“I asked you a question,” she murmurs, voice like velvet stretched over steel. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You blink up at her, heartbeat skittering. But despite the heat rushing everywhere, your mouth moves before your brain can stop it.

“I’m thinking about it,” you whisper, smirking. “You kind of interrupted.”

Sevika huffs a single laugh, but it’s low and dangerous. Her eyes glance down to your lips, but she doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. Instead, her gaze flickers lower . One hand comes up, slow, carefully, and curls around the front of your hoodie. Her fingers tug at the hem, testing, like she’s asking a question without saying it out loud.

You don’t move.

Her thumb brushes against the skin just beneath it. Barely. Her knuckles graze your stomach.

Still, you don’t move.

Sevika tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly like she’s clocking every breath you take. “Gonna make me undress you too?” she mutters, almost amused. But there’s an edge to it, like she’s not exactly opposed to doing exactly that.

You raise your eyebrows, defiantly. “You’re the one who showed up uninvited.”

Her mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. “Text says otherwise.”

And just like that, she lifts the hoodie—slowly, like she’s giving you time to stop her, but knowing you won’t. Her knuckles graze higher, baring skin inch by inch until the fabric is up and over your head. You let her. It drops to the floor between you like a challenge. Then her hand slides up your jaw, rough and steady, tipping your face toward hers. She pauses, close enough that you can feel the heat of her breath.

“You’re not gonna kiss me?” you murmur, eyes locked on her mouth. 

“No,” she breathes, right before her lips part ever so slightly. “I’m gonna take my time ruining you.”

Your breath catches as her fingers tilt your face toward hers. The space between you narrows, so close you can taste it. The air between your mouths is hot, electric. You lean in, just slightly, lips parting, finally giving in—

And she pulls back.

Just enough to make you feel the absence. Just enough to let your lips close on nothing but air.

You blink, startled. “Did you just—”

Her hand is still on your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip like she’s toying with the idea of giving it back. Her mouth is curved into the smallest, cockiest smirk.

“I told you,” she murmurs. “I’m not rushing this.”

Your body betrays you—shifting forward again, chasing her warmth before you can stop yourself. But she’s already straightened up, taking her time as she studies you like something she’s already unwrapped and plans to make beg for more. Pretty sure the both of you are now disregarding what you said earlier about ‘not talking’.

“I hate you,” you mutter under your breath.

“You will,” she says, voice low. “But not yet.”

And then, finally, she leans down again. But not to kiss you. Her mouth brushes the side of your jaw, your throat, down the line of your neck with a pace that’s maddening, just enough to make your breath hitch, but not enough to satisfy a damn thing. It’s as if she's almost admiring the marks she had made previously. 

She’s not kissing you to please you. She’s kissing you like she owns the reaction. Like she’s staking a claim on every shiver.

“You’re not in charge tonight,” she murmurs against your collarbone.

And you know she means every word. But will you allow her to do so, is the real question. You let her kiss your neck. 

At first anyways.

She’s thorough, teasing. Her mouth traces lazy patterns along your throat, just beneath your jaw, like she’s mapping every spot that makes you sigh. Her hands are planted firm on either side of you, keeping you caged where she wants you. You tilt your head back, exposing your neck more. Letting her. Encouraging her to do more.

But then your hand moves. Slow and deliberate.

You reach up and thread your fingers through her ponytail. She pauses for half a second, barely a flicker, but you feel it. That moment of stillness when she realizes you’re not going to stay passive. You tug the tie loose. Her hair falls in waves, shadowing her face, brushing against your skin.

You lean in this time, close to her ear, your lips almost brushing the shell of it as you murmur, “Let me see you.”

She pulls back just a little, enough to look at you through the veil of her now-messy hair. Her pupils are blown wide. That smirk is gone. What’s there now is sharper. Hungrier. Giving the look of wanting to completely devour you whole. It almost makes your brain short circuit. Almost.

You press your palm to the center of her chest, guiding her back—not pushing, just leading.

“You think I’m the one not in charge,” you whisper, your tone just this side of daring.

She huffs once, barely a laugh, but she lets you shift her. And for the first time, she lets you take the lead.

At least for now.

The next few minutes go by as a blur as her clothes start to slowly drop one by one next to yours till she's just left standing bare, in front of you. You watch her every movement, eyes slowly gazing down her body feeling that if you blink you’ll miss something special. Tracing her scars. Her muscles. Her curves. All while somehow managing to keep your hands to yourself instead of immediately going to grasp her into your arms. 

Christ, she’s beautiful. 

Eventually, as you two manage to settle on the bed you guide her back until her weight settles against your hands, and for once, Sevika lets you take the reins. She watches you, eyes half-lidded but sharp, like a wolf humoring its prey. You swing a leg over her lap, straddling her. Her hands slide down to your thighs, but she doesn’t grip, doesn’t move, she’s waiting. Testing what you’ll do next.

And god, it’s addictive. That flicker of restraint. The subtle submission from someone who clearly doesn't give it easily. And damn does it look good on her. 

You lean in close, letting your lips ghost just shy of hers, and whisper, “Thought you said mixing business and pleasure ends in blood and a lawyer.”

Sevika’s lips curve faintly, amused, maybe, but she doesn’t answer. Not with words. She lets you kiss her first. You go slow, teasing. She lets you set the pace, her breath steady against your mouth, hands still resting on your legs like she's giving you space. But there’s tension coiled beneath her skin, ready to strike, should you fumble. Should you forget just who you’re sitting on.

Your fingers rake through her hair again, dragging her closer, deepening the kiss until it’s no longer soft. Until it tastes like need. Until she groans into your mouth—and that’s when it shifts.

Because you got cocky.

She grips your hips without warning and flips you beneath her in one fluid motion. The mattress bounces. You gasp, winded, arms flung above your head. And Sevika? She’s back in control. Her hair’s wild around her face, a few strands stuck to her lips. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t smirk.

She just looks down at you like she’s already decided how this ends.

“Cute,” she murmurs, her voice low and rough. “But you forgot—” 

Her hand wraps around your wrists and pins it to the bed.

“—I like to win.”

Then she kisses you again—harder, hungrier. With all the restraint gone. And you? You stop trying to pretend you’re not loving every second of it. Your wrist wriggling in her grip as her free hand trails down from your neck to your tit, groping it as if it’ll slip away from her forever. Her thumb brushing against your hardened nipple, the sensation erupting a gasp from your mouth. 

And of course she’d fucking chuckle. “You’re so sensitive” she murmurs, trailing her kisses down your neck, “maybe tonight you’ll come more than three times.”

As you opened your mouth to retort something back— all that came out was a strangled moan. 

Her mouth latching onto your tit, locking and sucking at your nipple as her eyes cast a glance at you. Her grip releases your wrists only to grasp your other breast in her hand, squeezing it roughly. Your hands went straight to her hair, tugging it harshly earning you a reaction from Sevika. She groans low in her throat, like she likes when it hurts. 

Sevika doesn’t rush. She never does. Every movement is deliberate—measured like she’s memorizing the shape of your body with her mouth. Her hands are firm at your sides, grounding you even as your breath stutters. She kisses lower, her mouth dragging heat across your sternum, between the curve of your breasts, down the center of your stomach.

You twitch under her, muscles clenching with every pass of her tongue.

But it’s when she gets lower, when her mouth ghosts over your hip bone, when her fingers grip your thighs and spread them apart—that something inside you snaps tight. She pauses.

Right there, in the space between your legs, her breath warm against you. She looks up.

And god— that fucking look.

Dark, calm, knowing. Her hair falls around her face in waves, her lips parted just slightly, and her eyes never leave yours. She holds the stare like a dare. Like she’s asking if you can handle her now that you’ve finally let her in this deep.

"You watching?" she murmurs, voice rough, barely audible. Her fingers press deeper into your thighs.

You nod. Or maybe you just breathe too loudly. You’re not even sure.

Sevika doesn’t break eye contact, “You look away, I'll stop.”

Your core twitched at her words. She didn’t even give you a second to even comprehend her words properly as her mouth finds itself on your soaked cunt, her tongue lapping at your folds, as if she belonged there. Her being precise and slow with her movements making sure you feel everything. Your hands tighten in her hair, as you let out desperate whine.

Worst part was she never broke eye contact. 

You felt her lips curl against your pussy as she murmured, the vibrations making your body jolt, “You taste fucking delicious.” 

Your hips buck into her mouth, forcing her to shut up. She compiled. Her tongue hot on you, dragging it up your wet pussy till she focused right on your clit. Sucking with the right amount of pleasure, flicking it occasionally as her hands grip your thighs tighter. Pulling you closer just to get her tongue deep in you. You writhe in her grip, eyes fluttering from the pleasure as you couldn't help the series of moans that left your mouth. 

The moment your head was thrown back, feeling Sevika groan against your cunt which only made the vibrations shoot up against your pussy, that familiar pit feeling brewing in your stomach till—

She went still. 

You felt two taps on your thigh. 

Oh.. She actually meant it. 

You slowly pick your head up, seeing her eyebrow subtly raised. 

“You thought I was joking?” she asked, her voice slightly rough, “I wanna see your face when you come sweetheart.”

“Shut up” you huff, out of breath. The flush on your cheeks not going unnoticed by her.

“Make m—” 

Before she could finish you shove her head back onto your dripping cunt, once again, silencing her as your hips moved in a rhythm against her mouth. Trying to chase your high, not moving your eyes away from the daring sight in front of you. You were pushing her head deeper against your core, her brushing at your clit with the right amount of pressure as her tongue was ruthless. Not giving you a chance to breathe, as the sounds coming out your mouth sounded like fucking music in her ears. 

“Fuck sev..”

“Mmh— Close?”

“Yeah— right there baby!” you choke on a moan as your hips twitched into her mouth, your grip in her hair so tight that your nails scratch her scalp erupting a moan from her. Your orgasm being ripped out of you as your thighs squeeze around her head, trembling from the pleasure, back arching as you’re helplessly grinding against her mouth. You spew out incoherent words, riding out your orgasm with your walls clenching around her tongue repetitively.

This time your head fell back, eyes shut from being overwhelmed but—

She’s not stopping. 

“Sev..” you whimper quietly trying to pry her away from your swollen pussy, being too sensitive. But she doesn't back away, no. She keeps going. Her tongue circled at your clit, as she brought her hand to spread your soaked folds apart.

“C'mon princess, I know you got another for me” she murmured hoarsely, watching your expression as your thighs trembled around her, easily getting overstimulated.

You shake your head no, but you knew you could. So did she. Her finger easily slides in making your hips buck into her touch. Her tongue lapping around your clit which only made you let out a broken moan. You tried to squeeze your legs shut but she held your thigh down— only adding another finger just to curl it in your sweet spot. Your cunt clenching around her fingers as you already quick to sputter out,

“Please—” your voice cracking as you let out a sob, your body twitching forward as your stomach felt tight. 

Didn’t think you’d be begging today. But here we are.

“Sev— god you’re so good to me baby— fuck!”

And damn was she in between your legs eating your dripping cunt out like she fucking owned it. Her nails digging into your thighs, almost bruising the skin, with her fingers pumping at a rapid pace as she occasionally brushes at your g-spot. It felt so overwhelming but pleasurable at the same damn time, leaving you pleading more.

"Right there oh— please!" you breath out, not even knowing what you were begging for anymore. But all you knew that her mouth was doing fucking wonders.

You were cursing loudly as your body writhed against her, shamelessly grinding up against her mouth as you felt a sharp pinch on your thigh again. As if it was a warning to keep your eyes back on her or she’ll stop again. 

You picked your head up again, this time your eyes being half-lidded from being overwhelmed as your body twitches in response. Your eyes meet hers again, with her tongue plunging deep in you as another orgasm just shot straight through you with your legs shaking against her shoulders. You felt her bite against your inner thigh, her teeth sinking into your flesh which makes you cry out in pleasure, claiming you as hers. Tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes due to the overstimulation, as she licked every drop from you. You were panting as you finally felt her come up, the cold air hitting against your used cunt like a slap.

You felt her hover above you, her fingers gripping your chin to face her. 

Just staring at you for a moment.

“Take a picture.. It’ll last longer” you managed to mumble with her huffing, almost resembling a laugh.

“Just can’t help yourself can you?” she whispers, kissing your forehead.

Which only made you open your eyes and smile in response. 

She leaned your forehead against yours as she stroked your cheek with her thumb, “You alright?”

“Fucking phenomenal”

Her mouth quirks. A sharp breath through her nose. And then—low and rough, a laugh slips out of her chest. Not a full one. More of a rumble. Like the kind of sound someone makes when they weren’t expecting to be amused but are anyway, and now they’re annoyed at themselves for it.

“Think you can handle a couple more?”

“A couple? You want me to pass out Sevika?” you say incredulously as your hand went up to wipe her chin that was coated with your arousal.

“What? If you could come three times last night, what's stopping you from a fourth?”

“My god I hate you.” 

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I d— fuck” your words quickly dying off your lips as you felt Sevika’s soaked cunt lay right on top of yours. Your hands go straight to her shoulders, gasping from the touch.

Her hands next to your head kept herself up as her forehead remained against yours.

“You were saying?” she murmurs, having a hint of a smirk on her lips as she slowly moves her hips.

You just gave her a look that screamed, fuck you.

And she just gave one back as if she's saying, I am.

Regardless, your hands went to her hips only pulling her closer. Your legs parted more just so Sevika could lean back, her hands resting against your chest as her hips moved more frantically. As if she’s chasing her high and not being subtle about it. Almost as if she was using your body. You could give a fuck less having a view like this though. 

Sevika’s breathing gets heavier as she starts to elicit more moans out of that pretty mouth of hers. 

“So fucking gorgeous— and I bet no ones ever touched you like this before huh?” she spits, voice being slightly husky as she watches your reaction.

And you, being a fucking mess underneath her, could only just whisper out, “only you.”

She leans down to your ear to whisper— voice being husky, “If you can’t handle this, then you’re not ready for me to fuck you like the needy slut you are” 

And that only made you moan pathetically against her. Only making you more aroused by her words as your hands trailed behind her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze in response. All she did was chuckle from amusement as you felt her hand wrap around your throat to keep you pinned like that against the bed, and fuck did you almost see white at that. 

At this point you don’t even remember if you’ve orgasmed or not. You might have already, hell even twice at this point. The obscene noises that came from the both of you filled up the room, your hips grinding more eagerly against her just to see her expression be in pure bliss. She blurted out a few curse words, only indicating that she's close as your nails drag down along her back making angry red lines, only making her curse loudly in response. You leaned forward to capture your mouth around one of her nipples, sucking deliberately with your tongue lapping against her. Your eyes glancing up at her, meeting her gaze.

You felt her hand rake in your hair, only giving it a sharp tug off of her to capture your lips into a filthy and desperate kiss with a pressure that says you’re mine right now. You kiss her back like you mean it—like it’s a fight you don’t want to win.

“So fucking desperate, its pathetic” she murmurs against your lips before she crashes her mouth back against yours, as if she’s trying to prove her statement with you only parting your lips to allow her to slip her tongue in. Her hand cups the back of your neck, holding you there, deepening the kiss until you're gasping between touches. Your hands go to her waist, gripping tight. She tastes like heat and trouble and something addictive, something that’s going to fuck with your head long after this ends. 

You don’t remember the exact moment your body gave out. Somewhere between her voice in your ear, low and commanding, saying things that made your spine arch against her—and the relentless rhythm of her mouth, her hands, both your chests being pressed together, her everything…you eventually shattered.

You must’ve said her name. Or maybe begged. Maybe cursed. Actually, most likely cursed. You don’t really know. Everything blurred into heat and static, and then—

Nothing.

When your eyes open, the room is dim, bathed in soft yellow light from a lamp you don’t remember turning on. Your breathing feels distant. Limbs heavy. Skin flushed. There’s a lingering ache in your thighs and the lower part of your stomach, and the sheets are a mess around you. Hell, you probably grew a six pack from this alone.

You blink. Disoriented. Raw. You don’t even know what time it is. And then you feel it, a warm, damp cloth dragging gently over your inner thigh. Careful. Focused.

“What the hell…” you say as if you’re caught in a daze.

You glance down—and there she is.

Sevika. Sitting on the edge of the bed, that familiar stoic look on her face softened by just enough concern to rattle you. Her hair’s still messy from your hands. Her lip has the faintest mark of where your teeth caught her. You realize she’s been tending to you this whole time. Her hand presses lightly against your hip when you shift, holding you still like she’s done this before. Like she doesn’t want you to overdo it. She’s seated near your thighs, wiping you down with slow, methodical care. Her face is unreadable, except for the tiniest twitch of amusement tugging at her mouth.

Your voice is rough. Barely a whisper, “…Did I pass out?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Just folded the cloth then tossed it onto the nightstand beside an empty water bottle and your very-much-forgotten phone.

Then she finally looks at you. “For like two minutes. Real dramatic, too—went all limp on me mid-sentence.”

You groan and cover your face with both hands. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. You were out like a light.”

There’s a pause. Then, with a maddening smirk,

“What was it you said earlier? ‘You want me to pass out, Sevika?’”

Your hands drop from your face to glare at her. “Okay, wow. You’re quoting me now? Again?”

“You handed it to me. I just did the work.”

You stare at her in half-mortified silence, and she stares right back, utterly unrepentant.

Then you mutter, “This is the worst day of my life.”

“You said that yesterday too,” she points out, rising from the bed to grab a water bottle, unhurried and bare-chested like she’s in her own damn apartment.

“And yet, you keep inviting me over.”

You flop onto your stomach with a groan, face half-buried in the pillow. “Oh my God. You’re going to tell people, aren’t you?” 

“No.” She tosses the water bottle at you like a reward. “I’m gonna remind you. Every time you try to get mouthy with me.”

You peek up through the strands of your hair, already feeling heat crawl up your neck.

“You’re evil.”

“And you’re still here.” She sits at the edge of the bed again, hand dragging lazily down your back as you melt under her touch.

And yeah, you’re still here. Still aching. Still thinking about another round.

God help you.

“This is my room” you huff, reminding her.

“Yeah yeah— just sit up,” she sighs, rolling her eyes with her lips barely curled up as a small smile, while she picks up the water bottle to open it. 

You reluctantly sat up, wincing just barely from your thighs still slightly quivering. She held the bottle near your mouth before you took it, drinking almost all of it in one go. She just chuckled quietly from amusement. 

It wasn’t long till you two were back in bed, this time underneath the covers. You were laying on her chest as her hand was laying underneath her head. The TV flickers with the late-night glow of some old sitcom rerun—laugh track too loud, colors washed out. You’re lying halfway on Sevika’s chest, one of your legs lazily tangled over hers. Her arm rests behind your shoulders, fingers occasionally brushing absentminded circles into your back like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

You’re warm. Sore. Drowsy in that post-everything way. Sleep is pulling at your limbs, but your mind won’t let go. Not yet. Your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.

“What did you mean earlier?”

She shifts slightly. Doesn’t answer at first. You keep your cheek against her chest, hear the steady beat of her heart.

“About me being ‘worth it.’ After the whole thing with..” you trail off, knowing Sevika knew what you were mentioning.

A beat. Two.

Her fingers still for a moment.

“…I meant what I said.”

You lift your head just enough to look at her. “That’s not an answer.”

She exhales through her nose. A dry, humorless sound. Her eyes stay on the TV, but her focus clearly isn’t there. “It was messy. Dangerous. I swore I wouldn’t get close again. That I’d keep shit clean. Safe.”

A pause. Then, “But then you stormed in, yelling at that brat and saving a whole damn band in heels, and I—” 

She breaks off. Shrugs one shoulder like the words aren’t worth finishing. You wait. Say nothing.

Finally, she glances down at you. Her voice is quieter this time. Lower. Honest, “You’re not safe.. But you’re worth the mess.”

Your breath catches. You study her face, the way she’s looking at you, all rough around the edges but solid. Intentional. Not playing. Not posturing. Just Sevika, stripped of everything but the truth. You blink slowly.

“That’s the nicest terrifying thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

She huffs a small laugh, and that seems to break the weight between you.

“Good. You terrify me too princess.”

You smile softly, then lean in to kiss the corner of her mouth—slow and sleepy and grateful. And when she pulls you back against her, hand resting over your waist, as her arm holds you close against her, you finally let your eyes close.

You don’t need all the answers tonight.

Sevika’s breathing is steady, low. She’s awake. Of course she is. Probably has been. Why the hell is she always awake before you? You don’t know how long she’s been staring at the ceiling too, but you’d bet money on it. Your heart kicks up when you realize that she chose to even stay the night. No quick exit. No slipping out before sunrise. As if this was more than some mistake you two kept making.

Her thumb brushes idle circles against your hip. Barely there, but enough to make you ache all over again.

You shift, letting out a breath. “We’re idiots.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sevika says, voice low and rough from sleep. Or from you. You’re not sure which. Her tone’s unreadable. Teasing, but there’s something under it. Something heavier.

You glance at the clock. 8:12 AM. Your phone is mercifully quiet— for now. No new media storms. No sponsor threats. The statement you dropped last night seems to be doing its job. You know the label is thankful for it. Like it’s said before, the backbone of this band. 

The sisters are laying low. The headlines are smoothing over. The fans are back to obsessing over cryptic lyrics and reunion theories instead of implosions. Everything should be fine. Except you’re still here. In her arms. And honestly? You could go for another round. You tilt your head slightly to look at her. Sevika’s got that same calm expression she always does—cool, collected, dangerous if you poke too hard. Her hair’s messy, falling over one eye. Her lips are still slightly parted from where they kissed down your neck hours ago.

And she’s watching you. Like she’s wondering if you’re going to run.

You clear your throat. “So, what— this is just gonna be a thing now? We hook up between press disasters?”

Sevika’s mouth twitches, almost a smirk. “That what you think this is?”

You narrow your eyes. “You tell me.”

Her gaze drops to your lips, just for a second. “I think you’re still tense.”

“Oh my God,” you mutter, dragging a hand over your face.

She laughs, quiet but real. Warm, low, like gravel under velvet. You hate that it makes your stomach flip.

Her fingers trace absentminded patterns against your skin, like she’s not even thinking about it. Like you’re just another weapon she’s keeping sharp. And you should stop this. You should pull away. You should get dressed, check your phone, start prepping for the next leg of the tour. Instead, you stay exactly where you are. Breathing in her cologne and heat and the chaos you let happen.

Three weeks until the next show. Three weeks of headlines staying calm, fans obsessing, the sisters trying to salvage what’s left of their relationship.

And you?

You’re stuck here, thinking about how you’ve already lost the plot. Because Sevika is still tracing circles on your hip. And you haven’t asked her to stop.

“Still in denial?” she murmured quietly, her arm tugging at your waist to be closer to her. Her lips are barely brushing against your temple.

“...Still haven’t told me what this is” you replied, almost scared as if she’ll say it is something casual. Because you really, really, don’t want it to be.

Sevika’s hand stills for just a second against your hip, like she’s weighing whether to answer at all.

Then, quietly, without looking away,  she says, “It’s whatever you want it to be.”

Her voice is steady. No smirk, no sarcasm. Just blunt honesty wrapped in that calm tone that always knocks the wind out of you. Before you can respond, her thumb moves again— slow, lazy strokes against your skin, but there’s nothing casual about the way she’s watching you now.

“But if you’re asking if I’m done?” she adds, her mouth brushing close to your ear. “I’m not.”

You swallow hard, throat tight.

Sevika’s still got that unreadable look in her eyes, but there’s no game in her voice when she mutters, “I don’t stick around for ‘casual.’”

Then she goes right back to tracing circles on your skin, like she didn’t just drop a live wire in your chest and leave it there buzzing. Your throat tightens. For a second, you don’t say anything. You just stare at her. Really stare at her. And it hits you harder than it should.

Because you believe her. And that scares the shit out of you.

Because no one’s said something like that to you in… how long? Long enough that you forgot what it feels like to not be the one doing all the holding together. Long enough that you stopped expecting anyone to stay. And yet—she did.

She’s still here. Thumb still tracing your hip. Breathing steady, gaze heavy, like she’s ready to let you bolt but isn’t about to push you away. Something snaps quietly inside your chest. Your hand moves before your brain can stop it, fingers sliding into the mess of her hair, tugging gently to tilt her face toward yours.

Her eyes darken, sharp, locked onto yours, but she doesn’t flinch. You lean in, lips barely brushing hers at first. Testing it. Breathing her in. Feeling your pulse stutter.

Then you kiss her. Slow. Deep. No hiding this time.

Her hand slides from your hip to your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. Her mouth parts against yours, and it’s not rushed— not like last night. It’s steady. Intentional. Like she knows exactly what this means.

When you finally pull back for air, your forehead rests against hers.

You whisper it before you can stop yourself, “I hate that you make me feel something again.”

Sevika exhales a quiet breath, her lips still close enough to brush yours when she says, “Yeah?” 

Her tone’s soft, but there’s a smile under it, “Good.”

Your lips find hers again, this time slower—no hunger, no desperation like the night before. Just heat and weight and the kind of kiss that says stay. Sevika’s mouth moves against yours like she has all the time in the world. Lazy. Confident. The kind of kiss that lingers just to feel you breathe. Her palm slides up under your jaw, thumb brushing the edge of your cheek, steadying you like she’s keeping you right there.

You let her.

Your fingers trace along her neck, slow circles over warm skin. Her hair’s fallen messily across your face, strands of it tickling your lips between kisses. You could move it— you don’t. You like the way it feels. Like something soft between the sharp edges.

Her lips part just enough to catch your bottom lip, pulling a soft sound out of you before letting go. Her breath is warm against your mouth when she murmurs, “Still tense?” but she’s not teasing this time. Her voice is low, almost fond.

You shake your head. Barely.

Her fingers trail down, skimming your ribs, careful but firm, grounding you to the mattress. Her other hand rests at the small of your back, keeping you close—like she’s making sure you won’t drift off, won’t overthink, won’t spiral back into the chaos waiting outside the hotel walls. Your lips meet hers again, slower this time, sinking into the kind of rhythm that feels like forgetting.

There’s no rush. No trying to win. Just breathing each other in, lips pressed together in quiet, steady pulls until the rest of the world doesn’t matter. 

Eventually, you pull back—barely. Your lips hover over hers, breath mingling. Her eyes are still half-lidded, watching you like she already knows you’re about to ruin the moment.

“I’m gonna—” you start, voice rough from all of it. You clear your throat. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

Sevika hums, low in her chest. Her hand stays right where it is, palm heavy at your hip, thumb tracing the same circle it has been all morning. You try to sit up, but she doesn’t move.

“You always run after kissing me?” she asks, voice dry but soft at the edges. There’s no real accusation there, just observation.

“I’m not running,” you mutter, even though you kind of are. You swing one leg off the bed, toes hitting cold hotel carpet. “I’m just— going to take a shower.”

“Right.” Her lips twitch, the ghost of a smirk. “Important hygiene routine, of course.”

You side-eye her, but you’re already reaching for your phone on the nightstand, checking it for… something. Distraction. Control. The screen is still mercifully empty of chaos. For now. Sevika shifts behind you, the mattress dipping as she leans back onto her elbows, watching you with that same unreadable calm. Like she’s not worried. Like she knows you’ll be back.

You stand, stretching just enough to shake off the weight of the moment—but not really. Your body’s still humming. Your lips are still swollen. Her cologne is still on your skin. You start toward the bathroom, but halfway there, you glance over your shoulder.

Sevika’s still sprawled on the bed, one arm behind her head, the other lazily resting where you used to be. Hair messy, lips parted just a little, watching you like she’s got all the time in the world. You try to sound casual. You fail.

“You’re not gonna join me?”

Her eyes narrow just slightly. There’s a glint of something sharp behind the calm. “Oh?” she says, voice low, smooth. “I thought you were running.”

Your stomach flips. Your skin’s already too hot.

“I said shower,” you shoot back, sassier than you mean to. “Didn’t say alone.”

Sevika’s eyes drag slow over your body, stopping just long enough to make you shiver. Then she sits up, legs swinging over the side of the bed, her smirk barely there but dangerous anyway.

“Guess I can help you wash off,” she says, voice gravel and heat. “Not like I didn’t put it there.”

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head as you disappear into the bathroom. “You’re such an asshole,” you call over your shoulder, still grinning, still flushed.

The water’s already running when you catch your reflection in the mirror, lips red, neck marked, eyes bright in a way you don’t recognize anymore. Not stressed, not panicked. Just… lit up. And you hate it. And you love it. You reach for the faucet to adjust the heat when—

The door closes behind you.

You barely have time to register it before Sevika’s behind you, hands on your waist, breath warm against the back of your neck.

“Sevika—”

She doesn’t let you finish.

In one smooth motion, she spins you, crowding you against the bathroom counter. The marble presses cool against your back as her mouth finds yours again—this time deeper, rougher, like she’s got something to prove. You squeal into the kiss, a half-laugh breaking in your throat before it melts into something hungrier. Your hands fly up, arms wrapping around her neck, pulling her closer like you didn’t invite this but you’re not stopping it either.

“Could’ve just asked me to hurry,” she mutters against your lips, smirking even as she kisses you harder.

Your breath’s already shaky, your back arching off the counter, “Shut up,” you whisper, but you’re smiling. You’re still smiling.

                                    ──────────

The café is small, tucked away from the main strip— exactly the kind of place you’d pick when you’re trying not to be noticed. You’re sitting by the window, sipping a coffee you barely tasted, pretending to scroll your phone like you’re not hyper-aware of Sevika’s thigh brushing yours under the table.

Her cup’s almost empty already. Black coffee, no cream, no sugar—of course. Not surprising.

You glance at her over the rim of your cup. She’s scrolling her phone too, probably reading something bleak and impersonal. Probably pretending not to notice the way you keep stealing glances.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur.

Sevika’s eyes flick to yours, lazy but sharp. “So are you.”

“I’m letting you have your ‘brooding in public’ moment.”

That earns the smallest smirk. But then she leans back in her chair, gaze steady. “I don’t brood.”

“Oh, my bad,” you deadpan. “You glower. Very different.”

She huffs a low laugh, but doesn’t argue.

Your phone buzzes on the table—some band-related notification you ignore for now. You glance out the window. The world feels normal out there. Coffee, people walking dogs, someone reading on a bench. Normal. But your chest is tight anyway.

You clear your throat, eyes still on the street. “How long are you staying?”

Her head tilts, just enough to let you know she caught the shift in tone. “What, at the coffee shop?”

You give her a look. “You know what I mean.”

She sets her phone down, fingers drumming once on the side of her cup. Her posture’s still relaxed, but there’s something unreadable behind her eyes now.

“Contract’s for the tour,” she says finally. “Rest of the dates. End of the year.”

You blink, trying not to react. “So… you’re around.”

“Looks like it.”

Your throat feels dry. You take another sip of coffee just to stall. “And after that?”

Sevika shrugs, eyes narrowing slightly—like she’s measuring how much to give you. “Depends.”

“Right,” you say softly. “Classic.”

She studies you for a beat too long. Then, as casually as if you’d asked her to pass the sugar, she adds, “Why? You trying to get rid of me already?”

Her voice is cool, but there’s bite under it. Not mocking, but testing.

You meet her eyes. “No,” you admit, before you can think better of it. “That’s the problem.”

Her mouth twitches, like she’s fighting a smirk but doesn’t quite win.Her gaze lingers on you for a second too long— heavy, knowing. The smirk fades into something subtler. Quieter.

“Well,” she says, tapping the side of her cup, “then I guess we’ve got a problem.”

Your chest tightens, but your mouth moves anyway. “Glad you’re finally catching up.”

She leans in a fraction—not enough for anyone else in the café to notice, but enough for you to feel the warmth of her breath near your jaw. “Thought you liked problems.”

“I like fixing them,” you shoot back, voice low. “You’re just… inconvenient.”

Sevika smiles, sharp and soft all at once. “That supposed to hurt my feelings?”

“No,” you admit. “But it’s supposed to make me feel better about letting you stay.”

Her hand brushes your knee under the table, casual but deliberate. “How’s that working out for you?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. The way your pulse jumps is answer enough.

Her phone buzzes on the table this time. She ignores it. Her eyes stay locked on yours. You clear your throat, try to reroute the conversation before you spiral into another hotel situation. 

“So what, you and your team stick around for all the shows? Just bodyguard stuff?”

She nods once. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Sometimes I cover PR disasters too,” she deadpans.

You glare. “That’s my job.”

“Looks like you needed backup.”

“Sevika.”

Her eyes don’t waver. “Yeah?”

You try to summon the same sass as before, but your throat’s dry again. “What happens if this gets messy?”

Her lips curl just slightly. “If?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” She leans back, finishing the last sip of her coffee, then sets the cup down like it’s a period to the whole conversation. “It’s gonna get messy. You already knew that.”

You look away, out the window again. “Yeah,” you whisper, barely audible. “I know.”

Her fingers tap the table once, knuckles brushing yours. “Hey.”

You glance back at her.

“I’m still here.”

Three simple words. Blunt, no softness in the tone. But they settle in your chest anyway, heavier than they should.

Before you can say anything back, the café door jingles. A figure approaches your table— a girl in her twenties, hoodie pulled up, wide eyes flicking between the two of you.

“No pictures,” Sevika says, before the girl can open her mouth.

“I—uh, no. I wasn’t gonna—” the fan lifts her hands, backing off slightly. “I just wanted to say…” She looks at you, a nervous smile twitching onto her face. “Thanks for not quitting.”

You blink, caught off guard. Sure most fans know you’re the band's PR manager. Mainly Jinx’s fault because she posts so many photos of you, especially when you’re mad.  The girl pulls at the hem of her sweatshirt— a Faultine tour hoodie, except someone’s scribbled extra Sharpie writing on it in messy handwriting.

You squint.

It says; “Don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret.”

Your stomach flips. Sevika’s lips twitch at the corner, but she says nothing. Just watches you handle it.

You swallow. “Thanks,” you say to the girl, voice softer now. “Seriously.”

The fan smiles like she just won the lottery and practically skips back to the door.

When she’s gone, Sevika mutters, “Real subtle.”

“Shut up.”

She leans back, eyes glinting. “You worried?”

“A little,” you admit, staring at the Sharpie words burned into your brain.

Sevika’s voice drops, just for you. “Hey.”

You meet her eyes again.

“If pictures ever get leaked,” you say, half joking, half dead serious, “just don’t leave me.”

There’s a pause. One heartbeat. Two.

Sevika looks at you, unblinking. “Didn’t plan on it.”

Then she gets up from the table—cool, casual, like she didn’t just say something that makes your throat tight.

“Come on,” she murmurs, tossing a tip on the table. “Let’s get out of here.”

Eventually, the two of you are just walking. No agenda, no bodyguard formations, no frantic phone calls. Just the low hum of the city waking up around the block near the hotel. It feels dangerous, letting it be this easy. Letting your shoulders actually relax. Sevika walks next to you, hands in her jacket pockets, head tilted toward the sidewalk like she’s only half paying attention to where you’re going. Her strides are slower than usual— like she’s pacing herself for you.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You pull it out, expecting disaster. Instead, it’s your assistant.

[9:52] “Booked your ticket back to NYC. You leave tonight.” “You need the break.”

Your throat tightens. The idea of “home” feels weird now. What does that even mean? Going back to your apartment and pretending you’re not thinking about her?

Sevika glances sideways at you, like she knows the text changed something in your face. “Let me guess,” she says. “More chaos?”

You shake your head. “No. Just… my assistant being smarter than me, apparently.”

Her eyebrow lifts slightly. “Is that new?”

You elbow her gently, but your chest stays tight. You shove your phone back in your pocket and look ahead at the sidewalk.

“I fly out tonight.”

“Hmm.” That’s all Sevika says. Nonchalant. Like you just told her the weather. But her jaw ticks once. Just barely.

You keep walking, both of you too stubborn to ask the real question; What the hell happens now?

Then suddenly, words slip out before you can stop them.

“Come with me.”

Sevika slows her steps. One boot scuffs the pavement, just barely, but she catches herself. Her eyes cut toward you, sharp but unreadable.

You feel the heat crawl up your neck. “I—I didn’t mean that,” you start, but you kinda did. Actually, you really did.

Her mouth curves into the smallest smirk. “Yeah you did.”

Your stomach knots. “It was just—”

“Impulse?” she finishes for you, still walking, like the conversation weighs nothing.

You don’t answer. You just keep moving, matching her stride again. But your heart is racing.

After a beat, Sevika exhales slow, like she’s rolling something over in her head. “Honestly,” she mutters, eyes on the street ahead, “it’s tempting.”

That makes you blink. “Tempting?”

“Mm.” Her hands stay deep in her pockets. “But you’d regret it.”

You scoff, half defensive, half desperate. “What, you think you’re doing me a favor now?”

“No.” She finally looks at you again. Her stare is steady. A little too steady. “I think if I come with you, this stops being something you can compartmentalize.”

Your throat goes dry. Because she’s right. That’s exactly what you’re trying to do.

Sevika smirks again, but there’s no meanness in it. Just that same blunt honesty that always cuts through your bullshit.

“Finish the tour,” she says quietly. “Then ask me again.”

“Finish the tour?” you repeat, eyebrows lifting. “What— you really think I’m waiting that long?”

She huffs out a quiet laugh through her nose, like you’re amusing her again. Like she already knows where this is headed. You shove your hands in your pockets, eyes narrowing. 

“Besides, it’s just a few weeks back at my apartment. Not like we’ve got a red carpet to attend.”

Sevika’s gaze flicks toward you, steady as ever. “Few weeks?” she repeats, voice low, teasing but with an edge. “You’re sure that’s all it is?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything. You’re the one inviting me home.”

Your stomach flips. God, why does she always do this? Always so calm, while you’re the one spiraling under the surface.

“Look,” you mutter, trying to keep your cool, “I’m just saying— you’re already stuck babysitting me between shows, right? Might as well do it somewhere with decent coffee.”

Sevika hums, considering. Her eyes narrow just a little, like she’s sizing you up. But then she shrugs. “Hm. You make a decent argument.”

You stop at the crosswalk, heart racing for no good reason. “So that’s a yes?”

Her lips twitch— half-smirk, half-dare. “I’ll think about it.”

You scoff. “Sevika.”

“Relax.” She nudges your arm with her elbow, subtle. “I’m not gonna leave you unsupervised in New York. You’d probably start spiraling being left alone like that.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

She smiles, but barely. Just enough for it to sting and soothe at the same time. The crosswalk light turns green. You both keep walking, side by side, like the whole conversation didn’t just shift something between you. Because it did. You both know it did. As you both round the corner back toward the hotel, you pull out your phone—thumb hovering for half a second before you type back to your assistant;

[10:02] “book one more ticket pls. seat next to mine”

You don’t add a name. You don’t need to. Your assistant’s smart enough to connect the dots. When you slip your phone back into your pocket, Sevika glances sideways at you but doesn’t ask. Just lets you have the silence.

                                      ──────────

The terminal’s loud, crowded, and fluorescent as hell. Your phone is already at 54%, your assistant already texted a thumbs-up about the extra ticket, and you haven’t thought too hard about what happens after this flight. You’re pretending it’s just logistics.

Sevika’s sitting across from you, arms crossed, one boot kicked out like she owns the damn terminal. Her carry-on is small—black, worn, no bullshit. What really isn’t mysterious about her. She didn’t ask questions when you sent her the ticket either. Just raised an eyebrow like, Really? but stayed silent anyway.

You pretend not to watch her.

She catches you, of course. “You good?” Her tone is flat but knowing. Like she’s halfway daring you to admit you’re spiraling.

You smirk, trying to cover the fact you are spiraling. “Yeah, just thinking about how I’ve officially lost my mind.”

“Little late for that.”

She stretches, hoodie riding up slightly— just enough to be distracting. Damn she looks good in a hoodie too. “What’s the plan, princess?”

Her voice is low, cool. Like this is all just part of the job. Like flying across the country together is normal. And you’re acting like you didn't just get butterflies from her calling you that.

You lean forward, elbows on your knees. “Plan is, we get back to my apartment, I order something unhealthy, you sit there acting like you’re not staying the night, and we both keep pretending this is a bad idea.”

Sevika gives a slow blink. “Sounds about right.”

The boarding call comes over the speakers. You stand up first, wiping your palms against your jeans.

“C’mon, Sev,” you mutter as you grab your bag. She’s right behind you, close enough that you feel it but not enough for anyone else to notice. As you hand over your boarding pass, you hear her say it under her breath, quiet, just for you,

“Too late to back out now.”

And yeah— you know she’s not talking about the flight. But you knew the risks. And honestly? You’re willing to take them. 

Sevika doesn’t say shit when you both settle into business class. She just slides into the window seat like it’s routine, arms crossed briefly before she settles in. Her eyes flick toward you, like she’s clocking the upgrade but choosing not to say anything.

The flight attendant offers champagne. You wave it off. So does she. You sit back, trying to relax—but you know how this goes. Every flight, same ritual. Your heart knots up, not from fear, but from… something else. Memory, maybe. That old habit you can’t shake.

When you were younger, your mom used to hold your hand for takeoffs. Not because you were scared—because she knew the air felt less heavy when someone was there. Since she’s been gone, you’ve just… held your own. Quietly. Subtly. Thumb rubbing over your knuckles like a reflex you don’t talk about.

The engines start to roar louder. Wheels rumble underfoot. You feel your shoulders tense. And without thinking—really, without giving yourself the time to think—you reach across the armrest and grab Sevika’s hand.

And you grab it tight.

Her palm is rough, fingers calloused. But she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even look surprised. She just lets you hold on. You keep your eyes straight ahead, staring at the seat in front of you. Embarrassed for half a second. Then the plane lifts off, and you feel her thumb press once against your wrist.

Not a rub. Not a squeeze. Just… acknowledgment. Solid and present. Neither of you says a word. And you don’t let go. 

Time passes by and the seatbelt sign dings off somewhere over Pennsylvania. You realize you’re still holding her hand. Fingers tangled together, your grip loosened now but not fully gone.

You glance over. Sevika’s eyes are half-lidded, like she’s almost asleep— or pretending to be. But there’s the smallest twitch at the corner of her mouth. Barely there. Like she knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“Are you gonna clown me for that?” you mutter under your breath, voice low so no one else hears.

Her eyes open just enough to meet yours.

“No,” she says, simple. Then: “But I will if you start crying.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Please. I’m not that soft.”

Her gaze drops to your joined hands. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You try to pull back, just out of instinct. But she holds on. Loosely, but still there. Her thumb brushes against your knuckles like she’s drawing idle circles. No teasing this time. Just steady.

“I’m not scared of flying,” you say, defensive, even though she never asked.

“Didn’t say you were.”

“…Then why’re you looking at me like that?”

She shifts, lets out a breath through her nose— almost a laugh but not quite. “Because you’re acting like this is the first time someone stayed.”

Your stomach flips at that. Heat crawls up your neck. You don’t know if it’s irritation or the fact that she’s right. Man why the hell is she always right. She’s got to be observing your every move.

You glance away, looking out the window at nothing. “Whatever.”

Sevika lets you have that. No pushback. Just leans her head against the seat, closes her eyes again—but her hand stays on yours comfortably. Like this isn’t a big deal. Even though it kind of is.. to you anyways. Having someone staying in.. god knows how long. It makes you feel content with yourself. Almost in a way that's too good to be true. 

Somewhere mid-flight, the world outside the window fades to black. Clouds gone, lights dimmed, engines humming like white noise. The cabin lights dim halfway through the flight. Business class is quiet, full of hushed conversations and the occasional clink of glassware. But in your little pocket of space, it’s just the two of you.

You’re reclined halfway, blanket over your lap, hand still tangled in Sevika’s.

You’re not sure who’s holding who at this point. Her thumb strokes lazy circles over your wrist—barely there, like muscle memory.

Neither of you speaks. Your head tips back against the seat, eyes heavy but not fully closed. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Sevika turning. Her gaze drops to your hand in hers.

Then you feel it. Soft and intentional. The faintest press of her lips against your knuckles.

She doesn’t make a sound. Doesn’t look at you after. Just rests your joined hands back down on the armrest between you like it never happened.

But it did.

Your throat tightens, heat crawling up the back of your neck. You shift slightly in your seat, fingers tightening around hers, not enough to call attention to it, just enough to say; 

Yeah. I felt that.

The engine hums beneath your feet. The world 35,000 feet below spins on. But up here, you’re suspended in this—whatever this is. Minutes later, you let yourself drift off. Hand still in hers.

Somewhere before sleep fully embraced you, you felt Sevika shift in her seat slightly. Your eyes barely cracked open to see what she’s doing. She's watching the TV screen. Whatever, you were comfortable. It wasn’t long till you were fully succumbed to sleep. And soon Sevika was asleep as well.

When you do wake up, you wake up to the low hum of the cabin and the soft shifting of someone next to you. Eyes still half-lidded, you glance sideways. Sevika’s awake. Her arm’s still resting close—hand casually draped on the armrest like you didn’t fall asleep practically glued together hours ago. But there’s a flicker of something in her eyes when she catches you looking.

“Sleep good?” she murmurs, voice low, still rough from the nap.

You stretch, fingers flexing in your lap. “Would’ve been better if I didn’t drool.”

Sevika smirks, slow and lazy. “Yeah. Noticed.”

Your eyes narrow. “And you let me?”

Her mouth twitches. “What, you wanted me to wipe your chin mid-flight?”

“Maybe.” You side-eye her. “Would’ve been the decent thing to do.”

Sevika leans back, eyes half-lidded. “I’m not decent.”

You scoff, kicking her foot lightly under the seat. “You’re the worst.”

“Hmm,” she hums, eyes flicking to the seat-back screen. “Wanna make it worse?”

You follow her gaze. There’s a poker game pulled up—digital cards waiting. Of course. Classic.

“Oh, you wanna lose to me twice in one weekend?”

Her lips curl into something dangerous. “I never lose.”

You tap the screen anyway, pulling the game up. “Fine. Let’s bet.”

Her brow lifts. “On what?”

You think for a second, heart already speeding up. “Winner gets to call the shots tonight.”

Sevika’s gaze sharpens, amused but interested. “And the loser?”

You grin, sharp and knowing. “Has to keep their hands to themselves. No touching.”

Her jaw shifts slightly, tongue pressing to the inside of her cheek like she’s considering it.

“…You’re not gonna win that,” she says, deadpan.

“Oh? So you’re admitting you’re gonna fold first?”

“I’m saying I don’t play games I can’t rig.”

You laugh, leaning into her space just enough to make it dangerous. “Then deal the cards, Sev.”

The screen flickers as the game begins—both of you pretending this is about poker. When it’s really not.The game gets quiet. Serious even. Cards shuffle digitally on the little seat-back screen. You and Sevika are both locked in, no smirks now. Just narrowed eyes, tense lips, and competitive silence.

At some point, you even reached over and slid the privacy divider up between you, not because you wanted space, but because you didn’t trust her not to glance at your hand.

Sevika side-eyes you as the plastic clicks into place. “Really?”

“Absolutely.” You don’t even look at her. “You’re shady.”

Her lips twitch, but she says nothing. She just taps Call on her screen. Your pulse kicks up.

It’s ridiculous, honestly. Two adults in business class, locked in an in-flight poker death match over a bet you both know neither of you can actually handle. The stakes are stupidly high for something that should be casual. But that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?

Sevika plays her next move, eyes sharp. “You nervous?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you slide one leg across the armrest divider, just enough to brush her knee under the tray table. Not cheating technically— just a reminder of what’s on the line.

“No,” you murmur, tapping Raise.

Her eyes darken. “Hm.”

You catch her jaw flex as she clicks Call again, matching your bet. Her boot nudges back under your calf. Maybe on purpose. Maybe not.

Five minutes in, it stops feeling like poker and starts feeling like foreplay.

You look at her through the corner of your eye. “So? You gonna fold or what?”

Sevika shifts in her seat, cracking her knuckles once—slow and deliberate. “Thought you wanted me to keep my hands to myself.”

“Yeah, if you lose.”

Her mouth quirks slightly. “Guess I’ll have to win then.”

You slide another chip in-game and whisper, “Please. You’ve been bluffing since the second hand.”

“Oh yeah?”

The divider makes it so you can’t fully see her face now—but you feel her smirk.

“You sure about that?” she murmurs, voice a little lower.

Your throat goes dry. You know you should focus on the game. On the cards. On winning. But right now, all you can think about is what happens if you don’t. And the way Sevika’s foot is still resting against yours under the seat isn’t helping. 

Yet, the final hand flips on the screen. You both stare.

You win.

Sevika blinks once. Her jaw shifts, subtle but noticeable— like she’s recalculating reality. You on the other hand, slowly slide the divider back, stifling a chuckle.

“No fucking way,” she mutters, eyes narrowing at the display like the poker game personally betrayed her.

You grin slow, dragging it out. “Oh, I’m sorry, was that my royal flush?”

Her gaze snaps to you. You catch the flicker of disbelief before she schools her face back into neutral. Then, without a word, she reaches over and slides the little divider panel between your seats all the way back— again. Like that somehow rewrites the outcome.

“Oh, okay. Wow.” You laugh, leaning back smug. “We’re just closing the divider now? Is that the ‘I lost’ protocol?”

Sevika exhales through her nose, cool as ever. “No,” she deadpans. “Your screen’s glitchy. Couldn’t have been legit.”

“Oh, you’re full of shit.” You nudge her knee under the tray table, as your hand drags back the divider open  again. “Admit it. I won.”

She looks at you sideways, lips twitching like she’s fighting a grin but refusing to lose face.

“Fine,” she says, voice low. “But you’re not a graceful winner.”

You rest your head against the seat, still smirking. “Nope. Never claimed to be.”

She exhales, shaking her head once, then mutters just loud enough for you to hear,

“Fucking PR people.”

But she’s smiling this time too. That smile.

God, that fucking smile.

It’s rare. Almost dangerous. Like watching something wild and sharp let its guard down for just a second. Most people don’t even get to see it, not really. They see the smirk, the cocky tilt of her mouth when she’s winning, the cold half-grin when she’s baiting someone into doing something stupid. But this?

This real, soft thing? It’s different.

 Without thinking, you blurt it out—soft, under your breath but loud enough.

“I love your smile.”

The second the words are out, your eyes snap forward, locking on the seat in front of you like it just became the most interesting object in the universe. 

Sevika stills.

You can feel her looking at you, but you don’t dare meet her eyes. Your face heats, heart pounding like you just accidentally leaked a press release early. Oh damn you hate that feeling.

“Didn’t say anything,” you mumble quickly, pretending to adjust your seatbelt. “Flight noise. Must’ve misheard.”

Sevika lets the silence stretch, lets you stew. Then, quiet, almost smug, you hear her shift beside you, voice low enough to curl around your pulse.

“Yeah?” she says. “Well. Say it again when you mean it.”

You bite your lip hard, but your stomach flips anyway. You steal a glance out of the corner of your eye. She’s still looking at you. Still smiling. Not wide, not showy—just this subtle, private thing like you’re in on some secret no one else gets.

And for a second you think, Oh. That’s why people risk it. That’s why they get too close. Because Sevika’s smile feels like being trusted with something fragile. Like she’s giving you the sharp end of the knife and daring you not to cut yourself. And for some reason, seeing that soft smile on her face just makes your chest warm.

Wow. Is this how it feels when someone's having a crush? Please make it stop. (Please don’t).

                                     ──────────

The door clicks shut behind you, sealing the two of you into the quiet of your apartment. It’s familiar, but tonight it feels…different. The usual hum of New York floats through the windows: distant horns, sirens three blocks over, someone yelling about nothing. Home. And maybe because Sevika’s standing in the middle of your living room, boots still on, jacket half off, eyes scanning the space like she’s casing the joint.

She’s stood there, eyeing your place like she’s scanning for sniper points. You roll your eyes. "Relax, Sev. No one's gonna jump us in my one-bedroom."

Her lips twitch like she might smirk, but she doesn’t. Just steps inside fully, boots heavy on your floor.

“Make yourself at home,” you say, tossing your keys onto the counter. “But, you know— hands to yourself.”

Her eyes cut to yours, sharp, playful. “That was your bet, remember?”

“Yeah, and I won.”

Sevika snorts. “Barely.”

“Oh, I barely kicked your ass at poker?” You flash a grin, toeing off your shoes. “That what you’re going with?”

She shrugs off her jacket, folds it over the back of the chair like she’s got all the time in the world. “I let you win.”

“Uh huh.” You cross your arms, raising a brow. “Right, because you’re so good at losing.”

Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she steps deeper into your apartment, eyes flicking to the couch, the walls, the takeout menus magnetized to your fridge.

“You hungry?” you ask, trying to sound normal. Trying not to think about how close she is. How warm her hands were on the plane. How your bed is right there.

“Starving,” she says, voice low, like the word has more than one meaning.

You swallow. Ignore it. Pick up your phone.

“Okay,” you say, pretending to scroll, “what’s the move? Thai? Sushi? Something that doesn’t involve us cooking because, I don’t know about you, but my stove is basically a storage unit.”

Sevika’s eyes narrow like she’s deciding something, but all she says is, “Thai.”

You nod, tapping the screen. “Good. We can’t violate the bet if we’re stuffing our faces.”

Her lips twitch again. “You keep telling yourself that.”

And you do. Even as your stomach flips, and you scroll through the menu like your hands aren’t itching to break your own rule. Biting a smile back knowing neither of you will last.

Yeah so, the food’s long gone. Takeout boxes sit empty on the table, two sets of chopsticks resting at odd angles like fallen swords. You’re both stretched out on the couch now— half-lounging, half-sinking, Netflix asking for the third time if you’re still watching. Neither of you bother to answer.

The bet was supposed to keep things light. Keep things distant. You should’ve known better.

Sevika’s thigh presses against yours, solid and warm, her arm casually slung over the back of the couch like she’s not three seconds away from breaking your no-contact rule. Or maybe you are. It’s hard to tell whose self-control is worse at this point.

You tilt your head toward her, eyes half-lidded. “You realize we’re basically asking for it right now.”

Her gaze slides over to you, lazy. “Asking for what?”

You scoff, elbow nudging her side. “Oh yeah, play dumb now.”

Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t move away. Her fingers stay exactly where they are, draped behind your shoulder like it’s no big deal. Like she’s not running her thumb in small, idle circles along the couch cushion just close enough.

The silence stretches long. Heavy. But comfortable, somehow.

Your eyes flick to her mouth. You’re full, tired, wrecked from the last few days—but you still want her. In that slow, sticky, addictive way that sinks deeper when everything else gets quiet.

“Fuck the bet,” you murmur, almost to yourself. Because honestly? Who could ever last with a bet like this. You just set yourself up.

Sevika hums like she didn’t hear you—but then her hand slides from the couch cushion to your jaw. Calloused fingers brushing your skin. Your pulse kicks up immediately.

You shift closer, barely breathing. She leans in, close enough that her breath hits your lips.

“You sure?” she murmurs, voice low. “Didn’t know you were such a sore winner.”

“Shut up,” you whisper—but your mouth is already parting for hers.

The kiss starts slow. Barely there. Just lips brushing, testing, teasing. But it doesn’t stay soft for long.

Her hand tilts your chin just right, deepening the kiss until you melt against her. Her other hand grips your thigh, anchoring you in place. You sigh into her mouth, letting the tension bleed out of your shoulders as your body slumps against hers, finally giving in.

No press disaster. No band drama. No headlines waiting. Just this. Just her. And the stupid, reckless fact that you don’t even care anymore.

Although, the kiss heats up faster than you expected.

Her hand slides from your jaw down to your waist, gripping tighter, pulling you onto her lap like it’s second nature. Your thighs straddle hers, hips pressing down. It’s too much but also not enough— your body’s moving before your brain can catch up. As if your body had other plans, craving her touch.

Sevika’s mouth is hot against yours, rougher now, her teeth just grazing your bottom lip before she captures it again. Her hands settle on your hips before it slides down your grope your ass, her fingers flexing like she’s reminding herself not to squeeze harder. Or maybe she’s not reminding herself at all. 

You gasp softly into her mouth, threading your fingers into her hair, tugging just enough to feel her groan against your lips. 

Her voice is low, wrecked, right against your ear. “Thought you wanted to keep it light.”

“Changed my mind,” you breathe, hips shifting slightly over hers, chasing more friction without even thinking.

Her lips find your neck, messy, slow kisses along your pulse, teeth scraping just to make you shiver. You can feel how much she wants this. You can feel how much you do. Fuck you loved when she kissed your neck. But then your stomach knots—not from nerves. From sheer exhaustion. The kind that creeps up in the middle of good things, reminding you that you’re human, and you haven’t slept right in days.

Sevika pulls back slightly, breath shallow. Her forehead rests against yours, both of you just… breathing.

“You’re tired,” she mutters, voice still low but softer now.

“So are you.”

Her lips curl into a half smirk. “Didn’t stop us last night.”

“Yeah, and now my body hates me for it.”

You both laugh. Quiet but real. The kind that shakes your shoulders, forehead still pressed to hers. You shift off her lap reluctantly, collapsing back onto the couch, both of you sprawled now, chests rising and falling in sync.

“Let’s not be stupid tonight,” you mutter, wiping a hand over your face, still grinning.

Sevika leans her head back against the couch cushion, eyes closed, breath steady. “We’ll just have to save that for tomorrow.”

You let out another small laugh, scooting closer, her arm naturally coming to rest around you again—no tension now, just warmth. The room is quiet except for your shared breathing. Just as you’re about to close your eyes, your phone buzzes softly on the coffee table. You reach over, groggy but curious, and pick it up.

A notification from the sisters’ group chat. You open it, expecting more drama or demands— because that’s been the rhythm lately.

But instead, there’s a photo.

Jinx and Vi, side by side, sitting at a bustling seafood pop-up stall. Their smiles are wide, unguarded, the kind of happiness you haven’t seen on them in weeks. Seriously. 

The sunlight filters through the canopy above, highlighting the spice-covered shrimp and buttery corn on their plates. Vi’s arm is draped casually over Jinx’s shoulder, and Jinx’s eyes are sparkling like she’s just told a joke. No chaos or tension. Just peace. For once. 

You stare at the image, your chest tightening a little—hope flaring quietly somewhere deep inside. As you hearted the photo, Sevika’s arm tightens around your waist. You don’t need to say anything. She leans her head against yours, her warmth steady and sure. Domestic even.

For a moment, everything feels like it might be okay. And then you finally let your eyes close. Letting sleep win, again. While Sevika on the other hand just.. admires you for a moment. Even though she screwed up last time with the Medarda’s. Fucked up even. Got feelings in the way of her job. 

For some reason she can't seem to pull herself from you. 

Even though her job is full of risks, and every second demands sharp focus and cold precision, here, right now, she’s letting the chaos fade. Because maybe, just maybe, this mess of feelings isn’t a weakness, but something worth holding onto. Something real. Something— no. Someone worth fighting for.