#pursuit

this were supposed to be a perfect assasination, same as your previous ones. if only fate had done its work properly and accurately, futhermore kept chrollo elsewhere from you for eternity. although it seems like it had different arrangements. which theory was it named? The last meeting. they claim that when a relationship, whether friendship, has fulfilled its purpose, intention, and lesson, the individuals engaged and involved must certainly not appear in one's existence moreover. even if resided within the corresponding location, even if they lived beside you. the final goodbye may have occurred without a conscious realization, and the universe ensures their paths will no longer cross, marking a definitive end to that chapter.

hence, why did Chrollo appeared again? considerably, everything happens for a reason.

.

.

.

the scent hit you first, warm, rich, unmistakably meat. you squinted the neon sign ahead bleeding into a blur of gold and red letterings, it took a moment for your vision to catch up, to piece together the word.

Relais de l'Entrecote. ( ribeye relay )

a restaurant, of course at all times. because why wouldn't there be a steakhouse conveniently waiting at the end of the murder? you stopped so abruptly that Chrollo nearly walked into you. he followed your gaze, your expression. the glazed eyes, the slight wobble in your stance, the absurd determination.

.

.

" Hungry. now of all times? " he murmured, almost amused, " I suppose sinners deserve dinner aswell. "

obviously, he knows. still knows. that's the kind of guy he is. never forgetting details of someone, something he finds interesting and amusing.

you looked at him bewilderedly, right. certainly he knew.

" Y..you paying..? " you questioned, gaze still blurry.

his lips curved faintly, his tone barely above a whisper. " I already did, one way or another. "

you didn't ask what he meant, you didn't have to.

.

.

.

.

you were halfway through your steak when you saw his gaze flick toward the windows. it wasn't the kind of look that needed words, you knew it instantly. the quiet warning beneath his calm expression.

you followed his line of sight. blue and red flickers rippled faintly against the glass, the reflection of lights outside. the police.

you swallowed hard, pulse quickening. before you could say a word, Chrollo's hand brushed against yours, steady and deliberate. his eyes met yours, that same still, unreadable calm that once used to unnerve you.

then, suddenly, he leaned forward.

the kiss came before thought, before reason. for a heartbeat, everything else, the crowd, the lights, the danger, fell away. his hand found your jaw, gentle yet firm, as if anchoring you there, keeping you from dissolving into the haze of the night.

you froze at first, startled, the taste of alcohol still lingering on your tongue, his breath warm and composed against yours. the world slowed to a hum.

and then you kissed him back. it wasn't planned. it wasn't wise. but it felt inevitable. like gravity reclaiming what it once lost. the air between you bent and folded, the noise around blurred into nothing but the sound of his breathing, the faint thrum of your pulse echoing in your ears.

for a few seconds, or maybe forever, time stopped.

a shout tore through the noise, interrupting you and chrollo. two police officers approached the table, followed by a few women from the brothel, the same ones who'd served drinks earlier. you felt their eyes on you, judging, suspicious, hungry for an answer. so you did what you did best. you acted.

you deliberately brought your hand to the corner of your mouth, wiping away the faint trace of his kiss with your thumb, feigning nervousness. your lashes lowered, a shy, almost embarrassed smile curving your lips. you let out a small, breathy laugh, as if to play the part of a startled tourist, flustered, confused, caught in something she couldn't quite understand. the officers' suspicion wavered, their gazes softening at your carefully crafted fragility. inside, you were smiling for an entirely different reason.

" Elle était la dernière avec Sébastien ! " ( She was the last one with Sebastien! ) one of them cried. " Elle était avec lui! " ( She was with him! )

you blinked at the officers, your lips still faintly parted, the daze from his kiss lingering. " what.. est-ce qu'ils..disent, mi amor?.. " ( what..are they..saying, my love?.. )

the ballroom, moments ago glittering and loud, had turned to static silence. the orchestra's instruments on the hall lay abandoned; a violin string still trembled faintly. the guests were frozen mid-step, jewels gleaming, hands trembling, voices reduced to whispers of panic and speculation.

an officer barked orders, voice hard and clipped. " No one leaves. Everyone will be questioned. Vous deux, restez ici. " (You two, stay here.)

one of the officers, tall, sharp-featured, eyes like slate, gestured toward you both with a curt nod. his partner took out a notepad, flipping it open with a practiced snap. you both watched them move through the crowd, checking IDs, separating groups, taking names. it was organized chaos, methodical and intimidating.

Chrollo tilted his head with polite interest. " Y a-t-il un problème, agent? " ( Is there a problem, officer? )

" Peut-être, " ( perhaps ) the man replied, eyes darting to you. " Nous avons reçu plusieurs témoignages. Une femme correspondant à sa description a été vue en train de parler avec Sébastien Pierré avant son décès. " ( We’ve received several statements. A woman matching her description was seen speaking with Sébastien Pierré before he died. )

" Elle ne parle pas français. " ( She doesn’t speak French ) Chrollo said gently, switching languages with effortless grace.

the officer's expression hardened. " Ensuite, vous traduirez pour elle. " ( Then, you’ll translate for her. )

" Of course. " Chrollo's smile was faint, the polite, agreeable kind that somehow still managed to feel like mockery.

he turned to you, lowering his voice into soft, careful English. " They're asking if you knew the man who died. "

you widened your eyes slightly, " dis-leur... " ( tell them… ) you murmured, glancing around nervously, " كيف حالك؟, луна и небе.. He spoke english.. " ( How are you? moon and sky.. he spoke english ). words tumbled out like fragments of broken glass, scattered pieces of languages you half-remembered. English, Italian, Albanian, something else between them. to anyone listening, you sounded disoriented. to Chrollo, it was clear you were stalling, acting.

he turned back to the officers, the perfect translator. " Ma femme raconte qu'elle lui a demandé son chemin. Elle s'était perdue. Il parlait anglais et l'a aidée à retrouver son chemin. " ( My wife says she asked him for directions. She got lost. He spoke English, helped her find her way. )

one officer frowned, clearly unsatisfied. " Comme c'est pratique, " ( How convenient, ) he muttered, jotting something down. " Et où étiez-vous, monsieur, pendant qu'elle demandait de l'aide à cet homme ? " ( And where were you, monsieur, while she was asking this man for help? ”

" L'attendre, " ( Waiting for her, ) Chrollo replied easily. " Nous devions nous retrouver près du bar. Elle se perd facilement. " ( We were supposed to meet near the bar. She’s easily lost. )

a light laugh followed, soft, genuine-sounding. it diffused the tension for a moment. you ducked your head slightly, shy smile, cheeks faintly flushed, perfect.

" Papiers d'identité, s'il vous plait. " ( Please provide your identification papers. )

" Un passeport devrait suffire, non ? " ( A passport should suffice, shouldn’t it? ) Chrollo said, tone gentle but firm. " Elle ne transporte généralement pas plus que le nécessaire. " ( She doesn’t usually carry more than what’s necessary. )

" Oui. "

you blinked slowly, feigning confusion, still flushed, still a little dizzy from the alcohol. Chrollo, ever unbothered, reached into his coat with practiced ease. you fumbled through your bag and produced your passport, fingers trembling just enough to look believable.

the officer flipped open the documents, reading aloud, " Marie Louisse... Lucilfer Moreau. " his gaze lifted, " Des noms de famille différents ? " ( Different last names? )

Chrollo's lips curved faintly, almost amused. he turned to you, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear before answering for both of you. " Nous nous sommes mariés récemment, " ( We recently got married, ) he said easily, his tone effortless, convincing, as if he'd rehearsed the lie a thousand times. " Il y a 8 mois, pour être précis. " ( 8 months ago, to be specific. )

you smiled softly, leaning just a little closer to him, playing the part with quiet grace. " je n'ai pas.. had the papiers changés... yet, " you added in a voice barely above a whisper.

the officers exchanged a look, suspicion faint but uncertain.

Chrollo's hand found yours beneath the table, a subtle squeeze. his eyes never left the men in front of you, calm and unshaken.

one of the officers finally spoke, his voice firm but polite. " En guise de dédommagement, tous les clients concernés seront conduits au 98e étage pour la nuit. L'enquête pourrait prendre un certain temps. " ( For the inconvenience, all guests involved will be escorted to the 98th floor for the night. The investigation may take a while. )

the 98th floor. the most luxurious suites in the entire hotel, marble floors, chandelier-lit halls, and rooms that cost more than a week's sin for you. a convenient kind of detention, you thought.

Chrollo's eyes flickered with quiet amusement. " Quite generous of them, " he murmured, voice low enough for only you to hear. " A temporary prison draped in silk. "

you couldn't tell if he was joking, or if he'd already started planning a way out.

one of the officers starts speaking to Chrollo, " Repos pour ce soir, madame en a bien besoin. L'enquête reprendra demain après-midi. " ( Rest for tonight, looks like madame can use it. Investigation will continue tomorrow afternoon. )

you were quite wronged, offended. yet it was true.

.

.

.

the elevator chimed softly, its golden doors sliding open with a whisper. you stumbled slightly at the motion, your vision blurring at the edges, the room swaying, lights bending like they were made of liquid. a hand steadied you. firm. familiar.

" Slow down, " Chrollo murmured, his tone deceptively gentle, fingers brushing the small of your back. " You're noticeably.. heavier after you've been drinking. "

you managed a breathy laugh. " hmmm... 'm heavy? "

he glanced down at you, amusement glinting in his eyes. " I'm saying gravity seems to like you more than it should. "

the elevator doors closed, sealing the two of you inside a capsule of dim gold light and quiet music. you could hear your pulse more than the song, the faint hum of electricity, the subtle scent of his cologne still the same as you remembered.

" You always did like expensive places, " you slurred softly, leaning against the mirrored wall.

" So do you. I prefer quiet places, " he replied, his reflection looking at you rather than himself. " places where questions aren't asked too often. "

you smiled lazily, eyes fluttering half-shut. " Yet... you're with me. "

Chrollo chuckled under his breath. " Perhaps I enjoy the challenge. "

.

.

the elevator bell chimed again, 98th floor. the doors opened to a long, velvet-carpeted hallway. crystal lights lined the ceiling, casting soft shadows against white marble walls. it smelled faintly of roses and expensive wine. you walked, or tried to, heels clicking unevenly against the floor.

Chrollo's hand slipped around your arm again, steadying you when you wobbled.

" You really shouldn't drink before committing a crime, " he said lightly.

you tilted your head toward him, eyes glassy but playful. " You... make it sound like dinner.. and sin are the same thing. "

his lips curved, faint but visible. " Are they not? "

your heart fluttered. not from the alcohol, at least, that's what you told yourself.

as you reached the door marked 9822, he stopped and turned to you. the faint hum of the city lingered far below, the hallway empty, the air between you charged with something that felt too alive to ignore.

" You're trembling, " he said quietly, almost as if it wasn't an observation but an invitation.

" I'm just cold.. " you murmured, though your gaze never left his.

Chrollo leaned closer, the distance thinning, the faintest smile ghosting over his lips.

" Perhaps, " he whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, " it's coming back to you. "

you didn't answer. you couldn't.

the keycard slid into the slot with a soft click. the door opened, room 9822, drenched in soft amber light and the distant hum of rain against the glass.

for a moment, it felt less like being confined… and more like returning to something you were never meant to escape.

room 9822 opened with a soft click, a low hum of air conditioning and the faint scent of roses spilling out from within. it was beautiful. too beautiful. the kind of room that looked more like a penthouse than a temporary stay, high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a glittering sweep of Paris at night. city lights shimmered like a thousand tiny stars, reflected across the marble floor. a jacuzzi sat sunken by the far wall, ringed with pale gold candles.

Chrollo stepped inside first, pulling the luggage along with him, his suitcase in one hand, yours in the other. he set them neatly by the wardrobe, the sound of the zippers faint against the hush of the room.

you barely made it past the door before gravity claimed you. the plush white sheets of the king-sized bed caught you mid-fall, cool and soft against your flushed skin. you sank into it with a sigh, half-asleep already, shoes still on, head spinning from the alcohol and the surreal blur of the day.

" Mm… " you mumbled into a pillow, voice muffled.

Chrollo's quiet laugh came from somewhere behind you, low, smooth, teasing. " You bear the look.. of someone who walked through purgatory. "

he moved with deliberate calm, undoing his cuffs, removing his coat, laying it over the back of a chair. " You might aswell change before sleeping. "

" ないわ〜 " ( can't ) you muttered, eyes closed.

" I expected as much. "

you heard the faint click of the bathroom door next, the sound of running water filling the silence soon after. the steady rhythm of the shower was strangely soothing, echoing against the marble and glass.

you turned your head slightly, still sprawled across the bed, watching through half-lidded eyes as steam began to fog the glass partition of the shower.

for a moment, you thought about how absurd it all was.

Paris. the lights. the chase. the way things almost felt like they used to, just you and him in some expensive place, pretending the world outside didn't exist.

you exhaled, sinking deeper into the sheets, the faint city glow painting your skin in soft gold. the steady rush of the shower filled the room, a soft, distant hum that mixed with the faint patter of rain against the window. the city glowed through the glass, blurred and golden.

you lay sprawled across the bed, cheek pressed into the pillow, half-drunk and half-dreaming. the world tilted pleasantly, heavy and slow, like floating in warm water. Paris flickered outside, a heartbeat of light and sound.

.

.

the bathroom door opened. steam poured out first, curling through the air like a sigh. then him.

Chrollo stepped out barefoot, a white towel hanging low around his hips, a sheen of water tracing down his chest. his hair was damp, darker, curling slightly at the ends. in the soft light, he looked almost unreal, the kind of beautiful that a sane person would never trust.

he didn't speak at first. just looked at you, sprawled, disheveled, eyes half-lidded, as if memorizing the scene. his ring caught the faint light when he brushed a hand through his hair.

" Staring's rude, " you mumbled, voice heavy with sleep.

he smiled, small, quiet, devastating. " Old habits. "

you shifted onto your back, your vision still hazy from alcohol and exhaustion. " You're not even dressed, " you said, though your tone lacked any real complaint.

" Neither are you properly asleep, " he replied smoothly, taking a few unhurried steps closer.

the room felt smaller when he approached,or maybe it was just the air tightening. the faint scent of your perfume mixed with the steam from his shower, something sweet and clean and dizzying.

" You should get some rest, " he murmured. " You've had quite the day. Running, drinking, sinning…"

you blinked up at him, the room spinning faintly, heartbeat loud in your chest.

the towel dangerously low, the warmth of his skin. the way his voice dipped when he spoke your name.

he straightened, walking to his luggage, retrieving something from within. his movements were calm, precise, every gesture deliberate, like a man too used to control, even when half-naked in a stranger's suite.

you caught yourself staring. again.

"...You are doing it aswell, " he said without turning.

" Hm.. I like the view. "

he glanced over his shoulder then, faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. the kind that used to make you both uneasy and entranced.

" Careful, " he murmured. " Flattery might sound like an invitation. "

" Wouldn't it be funny, " you said sleepily, " If.... it was? "

a pause, brief, but electric. then he looked away, slipping into that same quiet grace he always did when he didn’t want you to see what he was thinking.

" Get some rest, " he said again, softer this time.

you did, or tried to. but the image of him standing there, damp hair, towel low, the soft city lights catching the curve of his smile, stayed long after you closed your eyes.

and somewhere between dream and memory, you thought you heard him whisper,

" Still trouble… even asleep. "

the city lights framed him in gold, the night outside stretched endlessly on. and for a fleeting, fragile second, the two of you could almost believe you weren't fugitives, or sinners, or ghosts of each other's past, just two people, sharing the quiet luxury of pretending everything was fine.

moments later, he crouched the beside the bed, untying the strap and slipping the heels of yours carefully, setting it a side. a small, almost fond smile ghosted over his face.

" Still reckless, " he murmured, voice low, almost indulgent. " Still drawn to danger, even when it wears my face. " he stayed there a moment longer than necessary. watching, thinking.

the rainlight spilled across your skin, softening every edge, making it harder to remember why distance had ever been necessary.

he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers ghosting over your temple.

" Time's been kind to you, " he whispered. " Cruel to me, perhaps. "

a pause. the air between you almost trembling.

then, barely audible..

" Some things don't fade. No matter how far one runs. " he stood, gathering his thoughts like the pages of an unfinished book, and turned toward the window, letting the reflection of the city lights hide the faint flicker in his eyes.

Chrollo reached for his coat, draped neatly over the chair, and pulled the small earpiece from its pocket. the sound of static crackled softly before a familiar voice cut through.

" 団長? " ( dancho? ) it was Shalnark, casual but alert. " We've been waiting for word. You disappeared mid-chaos, again. "

Chrollo's gaze flickered toward the bed. you shifted slightly in your sleep, murmuring something incomprehensible. he smiled faintly.

" Plans have changed, " he said, his voice calm as still water.

there was a pause. " Changed.. how? "

" I.. have company. "

a short silence followed. he could almost hear the unspoken smirk in Shalnark’s reply. " You mean her, don't you? "

Chrollo didn't answer right away. he looked out over Paris, at the way the rain shimmered against glass and light.

when he finally spoke, his tone was distant, reverent, the kind that made even a confession sound like scripture.

" A pierce of art I can't stop returning to. " he said simply.

static hummed again, faint laughter, muffled words exchanged on the other end. Shizuku’s quiet " Told you so. ", Nobunaga's grunt. no one asked further. they didn't need to.

Chrollo ended the call with a soft click, slipping the device back into his coat. for a long moment, he just stood there, letting the silence reclaim the room.

his eyes wandered once more to where you lay, asleep, calm, unaware of the storm he had already set in motion.

" Even fate, " he whispered to the glass, " has its favorites. "

.

.

.

.

.

.

the room was quiet. too quiet.

you woke to the faint hum of the air conditioner and the gentle rhythm of rain against glass. the city below had softened into a watercolor blur, Paris asleep under its own glow.

your head throbbed, a dull reminder of the alcohol's slow burn. you shifted slightly, the silk sheets cold against your bare arm, and that's when you felt it, warmth beside you.

your eyes fluttered open. Chrollo. he was lying on his side, one arm resting loosely near your waist, his breathing steady, unguarded. his hair had fallen over his forehead, damp from a recent shower, the moonlight catching the faint glimmer of water on his skin. his book lay open on the nightstand, a single page half-folded, as if he'd stopped mid-thought.

you blinked, unsure if this was a dream or another of fate's cruel jokes.

for a moment, you just watched him. his chest rose and fell, each breath soft and maddeningly calm. you hated how peaceful he looked, as if nothing about the world outside could ever touch him.

but then his lashes flickered.

" I can sense you staring, " he murmured, voice low, still touched with sleep.

you stiffened. " I wasn't. "

a ghost of a smile curved his lips. " You have a habit of lying when caught. "

you exhaled, half-laughing, half trying to steady yourself. " You're awake. "

" I don't sleep deeply, " he said simply, eyes still half-lidded. " not when you're near. "

there was a pause. the kind that stretched just long enough for your heartbeat to betray you.

he reached up then, brushing a strand of hair from your face with careful fingers. the touch was so light it almost wasn't real.

" You were muttering in your sleep, " he said. " Something about the moon. "

you swallowed, your throat dry. " Figures. "

" Still chasing it? "

" Still cursed by it, " you replied, meeting his gaze.

for a moment, neither of you moved. the air between you was heavy with the unsaid, all the things that had ended, and yet hadn't.

.

.

.

finally, you whispered, " You shouldn't be here. "

he tilted his head slightly. " And yet, " he said softly, " I am. "

you stared at him, wanting to say something sharp, something to break whatever spell this was. but when you opened your mouth, all that came out was a quiet, tired laugh. " This wasn't supposed to happen, " you said.

Chrollo's gaze drifted downward, his voice lowering to a near-whisper.

" Nothing ever is. Yet here we are. "

the rain grew heavier outside, a steady rhythm against the glass. you didn't realize you were shaking until his hand found yours beneath the sheets. warm. steady. real.

and in the dim light of the midnight hour, with the scent of rain and expensive linen around you, you understood what terrified you most. it wasn't that you'd found him again. it was that part of you never stopped wanting to.

for a moment, the silence was enough.

the world outside went on, rain spilling down glass, sirens fading somewhere far below, the city still alive in its sleep, but here, it was just the two of you.

Chrollo's thumb brushed your hand once, twice, absentminded, maybe, but you felt it like a spark. his gaze was unreadable, soft but sharp, tracing your face the way he'd read scripture: slow, reverent, dangerous. you hated that look. you missed it, too.

" Why are you looking at me like that? " you whispered.

He exhaled a quiet laugh. " Like what? "

" Like you're trying to remember something that isn't gone yet. "

his smile faltered, not gone, but cracked. then he shifted closer, the sheets barely whispering between you. you could smell the faint trace of soap on his skin, the echo of cologne, the warmth of him sinking into your bones.

" I told myself I wouldn't do this again, " you said, voice low. " not with you. "

" Then, you shouldn't. " he murmured, though the words trembled.

you could've stopped. should've. but when he tilted his head slightly, the distance between you vanished like it was never there.

his lips met yours, not a desperate clash, not quite gentle either. just a slow, inevitable pull, as if gravity had been waiting for this moment since the beginning. it wasn't the kiss that undid you. it was the memory in it. the way he still kissed like he was writing something, deliberate, precise, every touch carrying meaning you couldn't name. the way he paused just enough for you to breathe, to lean in again without realizing.

you felt his hand slide to the back of your neck, steadying, grounding. you leaned into it before you could stop yourself.

the taste of him was still familiar, dark, soft, ruinous. you forgot for a second who you were supposed to be.

when he finally pulled back, the space between you felt smaller than before. his voice was barely above a whisper. " Some things, "he said, eyes on your lips, " refuse to stay buried. "

you smiled faintly, breath uneven. " Mm.. maybe they shouldn't. "

the air between you broke. one heartbeat, then another, and then everything blurred. he moved first, or maybe you did; it didn't matter. the distance was gone. their breath tangled, a half-spoken argument turned into touch. the kiss deepened, not hurried, not hungry, just too full of everything they'd never said. fingers caught in fabric, a hand at a jawline, a shiver that felt like recognition more than want.

time loosened its grip. the city, the rain, the danger outside, all of it slipped away until there was only warmth and the faint tremor of restraint. when they finally drew apart, their foreheads rested together, eyes unsteady, the world tilting back into place.

.

.

.

.

.

.

morning arrived gently, more or less. the world wasn't quiet in a peaceful way, it was the kind of quiet that made every small thing feel too loud. your heartbeat thudded against your ribs, slow but heavy, like someone tapping on the inside of your chest. and. god. your. head. it didn't hurt yet, not fully, but there was a pressure, a dull warning pulse sitting at the base of your throat that promised a headache if you dared to move too fast.

a half-groan slipped out of you before you even opened your eyes. the first thing you felt wasn't light. it was cold. the room held the kind of morning chill that always existed in high floors and expensive hotels, too pristine, too still, too sterile. the air conditioner hummed softly, blowing a faint breeze across your arms and raising small goosebumps along your skin. your fingers instinctively curled under the sheets, trying to trap warmth.

then came the light, sharp and gold, slicing across your eyelids like a blade. you winced, of course the sun was dramatic. of course it had to angle itself perfectly through the thin crack in the curtains and onto your face as if it personally hated hungover people.

you blinked slowly, painfully, letting your eyes adjust. the world appeared in blurs, white sheets, soft gold glow, faint reflections of Paris waking outside. dust floated lazily in the sunlight, catching the light like glitter. the sun warmed your cheek, but only on one side. everywhere else was cold. your throat was dry, your jaw ached from sleeping wrong, your body felt like it was wrapped in fog. you dragged in a slow breath, and even that felt like effort. the air smelled faintly of cologne, steam, and the sterile sweetness of the hotel's fabric softener. under it all lay the unmistakable scent of cold marble and morning air, crisp, almost metallic. your stomach twisted unpleasantly, reminding you of last night's choices. another groan slipped out. you shifted under the sheets, feeling the contrasting sensations: warm sun across your face, cold breeze across your shoulders, and the thick, irritated heaviness of a hangover settling behind your eyes. you weren't ready to face consciousness. you weren't ready to face your memories. you weren't ready to face anything. but the morning didn't care. it spread through the room anyway, filling it with a gentle gold that made everything you didn’t want to remember feel far too close.

you lay still for a few more seconds, suspended between the comfort of sleep and the irritation of reality, breathing slowly, letting the cold air and warm sun fight over your body. it would have been a beautiful morning, if it didn't feel like the room was spinning, and your head was filled with cotton, and the world was too bright, and everything smelled too clean. you weren't ready. not yet. but the day was already waiting for you.

the quiet wasn't comforting anymore. it was the kind of quiet that made your skin tighten, the kind that made every inhale feel too loud, too exposed. you lay there, half-conscious, wrapped in a sheet that was warm only on the side you occupied. the rest of the bed felt untouched. cold, unlived in, wrong. your breath hitched. you didn't sit up immediately, you were too hungover for that, too heavy, too fogged, but instinct crawled over your spine, a slow prickling sensation that whispered something's off. you shifted one inch. just one.

the sheets beside you didn't move with you. they stayed perfectly flat. perfectly smooth, perfectly cold. your chest tightened, slowly at first, then sharply, like a hand closing over your ribcage. the sunlight dragged itself across your face again, unforgiving and gold, illuminating the empty half of the mattress like an accusation. the cold air from the vent brushed your bare arm, heightening every detail you didn't want to notice.

you swallowed, throat painfully dry. he wasn't there. the thought wasn't a sentence, it was a pulse, a jolt. something internal and instinctive before reason caught up. a feeling, not a fact. like the air had changed. like the gravity in the room wasn't the same. like the warmth you'd felt beside you last night had vanished without a trace. your pulse stumbled. you forced yourself to move, slow, unsteady, dragging your hand across the sheets, searching for any lingering warmth. your fingers skimmed over silk, soft and freezing.

nothing. your breath came out shaky, uneven. The room suddenly felt too big. too empty. too silent. the city outside roared faintly with morning traffic, but inside the suite, it felt like someone had cut the sound with a blade. your body tensed. your muscles tightened. your mind sharpened through the haze. why does it feel like he's gone? you didn't know if the feeling was rational or just the echo of old wounds, the kind he left you with years ago, the kind that remembered abandonment far too clearly.

you blinked hard, eyes burning from the light. the pillow beside you was untouched. the sheets didn't dip. the air didn't hold the warmth of another body. you inhaled sharply. a cold pressure wrapped around your ribs, slow and suffocating. memories from last night flickered like dying candlelight, his hands, his voice, the kiss, the running, the blood, the laughter. it all felt unreal now. a fever dream. a trick of alcohol and adrenaline. you felt both foolish and terrified. you pushed yourself upright, slower than you wanted, faster than your head could tolerate. the world tilted. you steadied yourself on the mattress, palms sinking into the cold silk.

" Chrollo? ", your voice barely made a sound. it cracked, soft and raw.

no answer.

the room held its breath. so did you. your heart beat once. twice. too loud, too fast.

If he left—

If he disappeared again—

If last night was nothing—

your throat tightened. you didn't stand yet. you didn't dare. you just sat there, in the golden cold, pulse racing, lungs shallow, the silence of the penthouse pressing in around you like a warning. you felt it again. that awful, familiar sting: he's gone. he left, of course he left. because why would he stay?

and yet..

some part of you whispered, fragile but defiant:

he wouldn't leave without a reason. he wouldn’t leave without a trace. not him. not this time…

but until you looked around, until you saw where he was, you were trapped in that terrible moment where hope and fear collided in your chest, sharp and merciless. your fingers curled into the sheets. the world outside was waking up. but inside 9822, something inside you was breaking open. you stayed frozen in that cold patch of morning light, breathing too shallow, panic still clawing at your ribs. the air felt thin, the space beside you felt dead, untouched. your heartbeat rattled like something trying to escape.

then—

a sound. so small you thought it was nothing.

a shift of weight.

a faint drip of water.

the soft slide of skin against marble.

your eyes snapped upward, and he was there. not easing into the room, not stepping quietly from the shadows, no. he appeared the way Chrollo always did: suddenly. sharply. like a breath you didn't take. he stood just outside the bathroom doorway, one hand resting lightly on the frame. hair drenched, long strands falling over his forehead and down his neck, dripping quietly onto the floor. chest bare, pale skin catching the sunlight in a way that made him look carved out of morning itself. a white towel slung low around his hips, tied with the kind of loose, careless confidence only he possessed. he looked unreal. untouchable. too close, yet too far all at once.

your breath stuttered.

he didn't speak immediately. his gaze swept over you, slow, assessing, a habit he'd never shaken. then his eyes met yours, dark and startling and far too awake for this hour.

" You're awake. "

the words hit like a jolt. no warmth, no teasing. just calm. a calm that contrasted violently with the panic pulsing in your veins.

the room seemed to tilt, your hangover amplifying everything, the cold air, the warm light, the sight of him dripping water on the polished floor like a living painting. your lips parted, but no sound came out. he stepped toward you, barefoot, quiet, each footfall precise, measured. water trailed behind him in faint droplets, catching the sunlight like pieces of glass. you felt your pulse spike.

" You appear… startled, " he said softly, stopping just close enough that you could feel the coldness of the air around him and the faint heat of his skin beneath it.

startled wasn't the word. your whole body was trembling from the shock of thinking he was gone, to the shock of seeing him like this.

he tilted his head slightly, droplets sliding down the line of his jaw. his voice lowered, unreadable:

" Did it cross your mind... that I left? "

the question hollowed you. he asked it too gently, too knowingly. your fingers tightened around the sheets without meaning to. you swallowed, heartbeat uneven, breath shallow.

Chrollo didn't move. he simply stood there, wet hair dripping, chest rising and falling in steady, unhurried rhythm, watching you with an expression that felt both like a question and an answer. something inside you cracked with relief. something else tightened with fear.

he was here.

he hadn't disappeared.

not yet.

you didn't answer him. mostly because you couldn't. your throat was tight, your pulse loud, your mind a mess of sunlight and cold air and him.

Chrollo watched all of it happen on your face, the shock, the relief, the embarrassment you tried to swallow down. his gaze softened, only by a fraction. then, with that same quiet precision, he walked toward you. he stopped right at the edge of the bed. close enough that you had to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. close enough for a single drop of water to fall from his hair onto your wrist. you flinched. he noticed. a faint smile tugged at his mouth.

" You're unusually quiet, " he murmured. " Even for someone with a hangover. "

you glared, weakly, uselessly. " Don't.. start. "

his smile deepened, subtle and elegant. " I wouldn't dream of it. "

he reached for the towel on the nightstand, the one he had placed there earlier, then gently pressed it against your forehead to shield you from the sunlight. " You're squinting, " he said.

" You put the curtains wrong, " you muttered.

" Mm. " he moved the towel slightly, adjusting the angle. " Blaming me already? You truly have returned to form. "

heat bloomed in your cheeks. " No— "

" You are, " he whispered, close enough that his breath brushed your cheek. it should've annoyed you. it didn't.

he lowered the towel, letting it fall onto your lap. the sunlight hit your face again, but softer now, filtered through his shadow. he dragged the pads of his fingers down your temple, brushing back strands of messy hair.

" You're flushed, " he said quietly.

" I'm hungover, " you snapped.

" Of course. " his voice was too smooth. too amused.

you looked away, flustered. he leaned in at the same moment, misreading your movement, or maybe reading it too well. your noses almost brushed. your breath hitched. Chrollo stilled. you did too. the air between you felt fragile, like something waiting to break. his eyes dropped to your lips for one slow, traitorous second. then back up to your eyes.

" I was trying to decide, " he murmured, voice dropping to a heartbeat above a whisper, " whether waking you would be rude… or selfish. "

you swallowed hard, " Selfish.. how? "

he tilted his head slightly, droplets sliding down his collarbone. " Waking you meant admitting I didn't want to stop looking. "

your breath caught. that was too honest. too dangerous. too him. you parted your lips to respond, something sharp, something flustered, something you hadn't figured out yet. but a hard knock slammed through the quiet. the police.

Chrollo didn't even flinch. his expression relaxed into that calm, controlled mask he slipped into as easily as breathing. he leaned in, just an inch, and murmured:

" Stay close to me. " then he turned toward the door, water still dripping down his back, voice perfectly composed.

.

.

the knock came again, harder this time.

sharp.

impatient.

he walked to the door with calm, precise steps, still shirtless, still dripping faint droplets onto the marble. only he could look that composed half-dressed with the law waiting outside. he cracked the door open an inch.

" Monsieur Lucilfer? " the officer’s tone was clipped, strained.

" Another brief check. May we enter? "

Chrollo didn't move an inch. " My wife is still waking up, " he said smoothly. " She's unwell. A hangover. "

the officer peered inside, saw you sitting on the edge of the bed, hair messy, eyes half-open, still wrapped in sheets like a ghost trying to look alive.

" Madame, " the officer said carefully, " we need you to confirm your statement from last night. Can you speak? "

you blinked. hard. your mouth opened, then closed again. a foreign word slipped out, not French, not English. something half-remembered from another country.

the officer's brows knitted. "…Pardon? "

" astra.. bunga sereno mariposa.. " ( stars.. flower clear butterfly ) you panicked and scrambled for another language and another, and another. a messy mix of accents tumbled out of your mouth. an incoherent blur. you sounded lost, frightened, and thoroughly confused.

Chrollo placed a steady hand on your shoulder, grounding, gentle, protective in a way no one else would catch. he offered the officer a polite, almost apologetic smile.

the officer exhaled through his nose, skeptical, but tired.

" We will need to question her again later. "

you stiffened.

" When? " Chrollo asked, tone still respectful.

" 7PM. At the hotel lounge. Both of you. Don't be late. Security will escort you. "

your pulse spiked. Chrollo's thumb brushed once at your shoulder, subtle reassurance.

the officer continued: " And until then, stay inside your suite unless escorted. Security is tightening restrictions on every floor. "

he glanced at Chrollo one last time, a long, assessing stare at the water still dripping from his hair, the towel low around his waist, and then stepped back.

" Good day, Monsieur. Madame. "

the door clicked shut.

a silence followed, sharp, vibrating, almost electric. you let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Chrollo turned to you. the calm, composed expression faded. just a fraction. enough for you to see something underneath, something tense, something calculating, something that didn’t plan to sit still until 7PM arrived. you swallowed.

" They intend to question us… seperately. And doubt what we say. "

" Of course, " you met his eyes. " Should we… wait? "

a beat.

his gaze softened.

dangerously soft.

" 結構です, " ( That won't be necessary.) he said quietly. " We run. "

" Where? "

he stepped closer, close enough for you to feel a faint drop of water fall onto your shoulder.

" To anywhere, " he murmured. " as long as it’s with you. "

your breath caught. Paris stretched behind him, pale, gold, endless. a city made for lovers and fugitives alike. you stared up at him, pulse racing, mind still fogged with hangover and adrenaline.

" Think we can get away? "

Chrollo's lips curved into the smallest smile, not confident, not cocky, but certain in a way that made fear feel like excitement.

" We always do, " he tilted his head. " It's almost too easy. "

you felt it then,

that dangerous, beautiful pull.

running away with him.

just like past.

just like always.

the thought should have terrified you. instead, it made your pulse tremble with something dangerously close to longing.

" Tonight, " he murmured, brushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear.

" When the city lights are brightest. "

.

..

you shouldn't have agreed.

you shouldn't even have thought about agreeing.

but you whispered anyway:

" Tonight. "

he nodded once, slow, certain.

" Tonight, " he echoed. " as we always do. "

.

.

.

.

.

the decision had been made:

tonight, Paris would become your getaway.

but you still had several hours until 7PM. hours you couldn't spend trapped inside 9822 with your thoughts… or his half-shirtless, half-damp presence. so you decided on something deceptively simple:

lunch.

outside.

in broad daylight.

you regretted the idea almost immediately. your hangover worsened while getting ready, every beam of sunlight felt like a spotlight, every sound too loud, every movement a ripple of dizziness. Chrollo noticed instantly, of course. you tried to put on your shoes. tried. he watched from the chair near the bed, book in hand, voice entirely too entertained.

" Your foot goes inside the shoe, " he said mildly.

you glared at him. " It is. "

" Wrong. "

" It is. "

" It certainly isn't. "

yu looked down. it was… halfway in. you sighed dramatically. " I.. should've not drink alcohol last night. "

" You loved it last night, " he replied, calm as ever.

he knelt beside you, graceful, precise, and slipped your foot gently into the shoe. his fingers brushed your ankle, light, almost teasing. you swayed instinctively. he glanced up with a ghost of a smile. " Still drunk? "

" Still alive, " you retorted.

" Debatable, " he murmured.

.

.

.

security was everywhere.

two guards at the main doors.

three near the elevators.

one stationed by the lobby desk checking guests' names.

you muttered under your breath, " Ridiculous. Acting like I beheaded the man "

Chrollo's eyebrow lifted. " You did. "

" Hm.. Details. "

he didn't laugh, but his eyes softened, amused.

outside the revolving glass doors, sunlight poured onto the pavement like liquid gold. couples strolled hand in hand. children pointed at pigeons. cars passed with elegant indifference. everything looked too normal. Too bright for the night you had survived.

" This way, " Chrollo murmured, hand at the small of your back. you leaned into his touch without meaning to, your balance still unreliable.

" Still dizzy? " he asked.

" Do i look like i am? " you answered sarcastically,

he looked down at you. " You're leaning to me. "

" ...Gravity, " you said.

" Sure. You're enjoying this, aren't you? "

" Very much. "

.

.

.

security scanned the lobby constantly, too alert, too thorough.

you whispered, " How? "

Chrollo lowered his voice, leaning near your ear, his breath brushing your cheek.

" Hand in mine. Close to me. Let them assume we belong together. "

" Don't we? " you said, a little too quickly. chrollo let out a faint smile. he reached for your hand and laced his fingers through yours, confidently, casually, intimately. it startled you enough that you didn't resist. you walked together through the lobby with terrifying ease. he didn't look suspicious. you didn't look guilty. you looked like a wealthy married couple heading out for lunch.

one guard glanced your way. Chrollo squeezed your hand once, a silent instruction. you leaned into him instinctively, drunk, dizzy, and suddenly very warm. the guard nodded in polite approval. assumed. and let you pass.

.

.

.

a small outdoor café sat across from the hotel, gold chairs, checkered tablecloths, flowers on each table. the sun warmed the metal railing. the wind was cool enough to brush your hair back. you sat heavily into the chair, Chrollo sat across from you, posture elegant, unaffected by any part of the chaos. he watched you with mild curiosity as you drank water like you'd been wandering a desert.

" Feeling better? " he asked.

" No. "

he hummed softly, turning his coffee cup between his fingers. " Affection increases when you're drunk, for your awareness. "

your face reddened immediately. " I'm not affectionate. "

" You seemed to cling to me three times along the way. "

" Balance. "

" And… you wouldn’t let go of my hand. "

" Strategy. "

" You leaned against my shoulder— "

you slapped a hand over your face, " Stop. "

he tilted his head slightly, " As you wish, my beloved. " but his faint smile said he'd never stop remembering it.

nicknames today huh, what does Chrollo suppose.. you lifted your caramel macchiato to your lips, peaceful, warm, almost content, until the screen behind the counter abruptly shifted to breaking news.

" Dernière minute : décès confirmé de Sébastien Piérre… Lames du Ciel introuvable… suspects recherchés… " ( Breaking news: Sébastien Pierre's death confirmed… Blades of Heaven missing… suspects wanted… )

gasps rippled across the café. a woman to your right clutched her pearls dramatically. " Mon Dieu… le fils d’André Pierré? Quelle horreur. " ( My God… André Pierré’s son? How awful. )

you leaned toward Chrollo with dramatic flair, pressing a hand to your chest like a perfect little actress. " Chéri, regarde ! Sébastien… mort ! Quel monstre ferait ça à un homme si… prestigieux ? " ( Honey, look! Sebastian… dead! What kind of monster would do that to such a prestigious man? )

Chrollo let out a soft exhale, the kind that played beautifully into the role, heavy with staged sorrow. " Triste fin… " he murmured, shaking his head. his thumb brushed the back of your hand with feigned comfort. " Un homme remarquable, vraiment. Quel monde cruel, mon amour. " ( Sad end.. A remarkable man, truly. What a cruel world, my love. )

no one suspected a thing. not when you looked like frightened tourists. not when he held your hand so tenderly. not when your expressions were so perfectly rehearsed.

If only they knew.

you shifted your grip on Chrollo's arm, steadying yourself as you stepped onto the next block. partly for balance, partly for warmth, partly for… do we find the need to discuss this at the moment..?

.

.

.

.

the breeze carried the scent of roasted chestnuts and warm pastries, drifting between the chatter of tourists and the hum of traffic. Paris was alive in every direction, glittering storefronts, flower carts spilling color onto the sidewalk, violinists playing near the café terraces. the cool afternoon breeze brushing against your cheeks, and just enough alcohol lingering in your blood to make the world look softer at the edges.

you wandered deeper into the streets, letting the city pull you along, step by uneven step.

Paris breathed around you, cars humming past, snippets of French drifting through the air, pigeons scattering, sunlight layering itself over everything in warm gold.

he didn't comment immediately. just lets you cling. you walked down the street at a slow pace, your steps uneven, his perfectly measured. people passed you with curious glances, a beautiful couple, impeccably dressed, strolling through the city as if nothing in the world was wrong.

you kept walking, or wobbling, past elegant boutiques with gold-lettered signs and window displays that glittered like treasures. you pressed your face to a glass window.

" Hm..? "

" A jewelry store. "

you gasped. " Hey! Crimson-set piece "

he sighed. " You should.. focus more on walking. "

" だめよ—" ( no— )

" You probably are not even capable of stating the word ' coordination ' at this moment. "

"Cor… co… coronation. "

" Exactly. " he gently lured you far from the window.

after a few moments, you wandered into a busier street, perfumes drifting from open doors, waiters calling from terraces, the rich smell of bread, coffee, and cigarette smoke mixing in the air. you pointed at a perfume shop. " Smells like… wealth. "

Chrollo glanced at it, " Strong scents aren't to your liking. "

" Right.. how do you know? "

" I'm certain you complained once that someone's perfume gave you a headache. "

" When? "

" Two years ago. "

you blinked, " You remember that? "

his voice softened. " I remember everything. "

" Hm.. oh well. "

you paused under a row of trees where sunlight broke through the branches in flecks of gold. the wind was colder here. your breath came out in soft puffs.

Chrollo stopped beside you. " Sit? " he asked, you nodded.

you both sat on a bench facing the street. for a moment, neither of you spoke.

cars passed.

people walked.

light flickered like a slow heartbeat.

then he said quietly, " You're calmer now. " he looked at you. " You were affectionate, " he said.

" Are. " you corrected. a breath of a laugh left him. almost too soft to hear.

" Honest, aswell. " he added.

you turned your head, your cheeks cold, your chest warm, and caught him watching you with that quiet intensity that always felt like a confession he'd never say.

Paris moved around you.

but neither of you did.

.

.

.

.

the minutes stretched quietly, long enough for the light to shift. the gold drifting through the branches began to soften, turning warmer, deeper. shadows lengthened, the breeze cooled further.

you exhaled slowly, watching your breath fog in the air. then, without thinking too much, you spoke: " …Chrollo? "

he hummed in acknowledgment, eyes still on you.

you hesitated, not because you feared the question, but because the warmth in your chest felt strange, unfamiliar, almost childlike.

" Is it alright if we... " your voice trailed off. you looked away, embarrassed.

" What is alright? " he questioned, tone calm as ever, patient.

you tucked your hands into the sleeves of his coat, leaning back against the bench.

" Infinity pool, " you murmured softly. " At the hotel. It faces the whole city. And it's almost sunset, so… " you swallowed, " Can i see? "

his brows lifted slightly. " You wish to swim, " he clarified.

you nodded, a little too quickly. your breath puffed in the cold air. " Just for a moment, " you added quietly.

" Feels right, i've— " you stopped, cheeks warming again. " Can we? "

Chrollo studied you for a long, unreadable second, the kind of look that always felt like he was seeing through every layer you tried to guard. then, slowly, his gaze shifted to the sky, to the deepening gold, the sinking sun, the clouds tinged pink along the edges. a soft breath escaped him. almost a sigh. almost a yes. his eyes returned to you.

" If that's what you want, " he murmured, " I don't mind. "

your pulse fluttered. " Really? " you asked.

he stood first, offering you his hand, the same way he did last night, but gentler this time, unhurried. " Really. " he said. " We'll catch the sight of sunset from the water. "

you took his hand, warm against the cold wind. and for the first time all afternoon, you smiled without thinking.

.

.

.

the elevator chimed softly as the doors slid open onto the 98th-floor pool deck, releasing a gust of warm air that contrasted sharply against the cold outside breeze. the space glowed in soft amber: underwater lights shimmering turquoise, sunset painting every glass pane in gold.

you stepped forward first. your dark purple one-piece clung to you like it had been tailored for this exact hour, strapless, the neckline dipping just slightly, tastefully, the fabric catching the warm light like spilled wine. every movement made the color shift: violet to plum to near-black. you felt the cold air brush against your bare shoulders, trailing goosebumps along your skin.

you tugged at the edge of Chrollo's coat, the one you'd borrowed, before slipping it off and draping it over a lounge chair. the wind hit you immediately.

Chrollo's eyes flicked to you for a moment. not greedy. not lingering. not lust. just… aware.

he stood beside you in black swim shorts, simple, understated, fitting him perfectly. his hair was still a bit damp from his earlier shower, strands falling loosely across his forehead as the wind shifted them. against the glow of the pool and the setting sun, his silhouette looked almost unreal, all cool angles and quiet intent.

the air was cold enough to bite. the pool was warm enough to melt. you stepped in first. the moment your toes touched the water, heat wrapped around them like velvet. you sank in slowly, letting the warmth climb your legs, your waist, your ribs, until it reached your collarbones. the water lifted your hair slightly, turning it weightless, whispering against the bare line of your shoulders. the warmth enveloped every cold part of you. a soft breath escaped you.

behind you, Chrollo stepped into the water as effortlessly as he walked. the water rippled around him, light breaking over his shoulders in pale gold waves. he walked closer, close enough that you felt the faint shift of water brushing against your waist. your arms brushed beneath the surface, just barely. he didn't look at your swimsuit directly. but the small pause he made before speaking… you felt it.

" Excellent choice. " he murmured, voice low, almost covered by the gentle hum of the pool's heating jets.

" The swimsuit? " you asked.

" Everything. " he replied softly.

your cheeks warmed, not from the water. the surface shimmered around your chest, the purple fabric darkening as it soaked deeper, hugging your figure. droplets clung to your collarbone, catching the last blush of sunlight.

Chrollo looked away, but the faintest curve of his lips betrayed him. you leaned back against the pool's edge, your body suspended in perfect warmth while the cold wind brushed your exposed shoulders, the contrast making every nerve feel awake, present.

the city stretched endlessly below, lights beginning to flicker on, the sky sinking into pinks and violets that matched the shade of your swimsuit.

" Feels unreal, " you whispered.

Chrollo moved beside you, arms resting on the pool edge, face tilted slightly toward you. " It should feel unreal, " he said. " Moments like this vanish before you notice. "

you turned your head, your shoulder brushing his. " Let's stay a little longer, " you whispered.

the water lapped gently between you. the sun slipped lower. and Paris glowed like a universe built just for the both of you.

the sun had slipped low enough that Paris looked drenched in molten gold, every rooftop catching the last light, every window flickering like a candle held just for the two of you. the sky was shifting into a wash of rose-gold and lilac, softening at the edges as if evening were brushing over it with careful hands.

you drifted toward the vanishing edge of the pool, fingers gliding along the smooth tile until the city opened beneath you, endless, glittering, alive. Chrollo followed, quiet as a shadow.

the water warmed your body; the breeze cooled your shoulders. a perfect, fragile balance. you let your hands rest on the edge, leaning forward slightly. the height made your stomach flutter, but the view made you forget everything else.

then you felt it.

a hand at your waist.

warm under the water, firm but unhurried, his fingers settling at the curve of you like he'd done it a thousand times. he didn't pull you closer, he didn't need to. the warmth of his palm was enough to gather every beat of your pulse into one place.

" You're staring. " you murmured, eyes still on the horizon.

" So are you, especially like this. " he answered.

" The city, " you corrected.

" At you. " he said.

your breath caught. the breeze lifted your hair gently behind you, carrying the faint scent of water and city lights.

" Biased. " you whispered.

" Everything between us ever was. "

you turned your head slightly. he was close, close enough that the sunset painted soft amber over his cheekbones, over the line of his jaw, catching in his damp hair. his expression was unreadable in the way that always made your chest tighten.

" You look… " he paused, searching for the right word. " ... unexpectedly peaceful "

you huffed a soft laugh. " I'm drunk, half-asleep, hiding from police, what do you think? "

" Peaceful, " he repeated. his thumb brushed the side of your waist under the water, a tiny movement, barely noticeable, but it sent warmth curling up your spine.

you whispered, " You're being soft. "

" Do i? "

" You think Im a liar? " you stated sarcastically.

Chrollo let out a faint smile, " Perhaps it's the sunset. "

" Or Paris? "

" Or rather, " he said quietly, " you. "

your heart stuttered. you looked back at the city, anything to steady yourself. sunlight spilled in fading streaks over the Seine, the bridges glowing soft gold, the sky deepening into violet.

" Alluring. " you said.

" Truly. " Chrollo murmured.

you nudged him lightly with your elbow. " The view. "

the water lapped softly at your ribs. his hand stayed at your waist, warm, steady, grounding. the world felt quiet, suspended.

you whispered, " Have you always been like this? "

" What like? "

" Right now, " you gestured vaguely, the closeness, the softness, the unspoken warmth. he thought for a moment, the wind brushed past you both. sunlight touched the water in fragile gold ribbons.

then he said, softly; " Only with you. "

your chest ached, warm and full and frighteningly real. and for the first time in a long time; sunset, water, Paris, danger and all, you let yourself lean into him, just slightly.

the sun slid lower, turning the water into liquid gold. Paris glowed beneath you like a city half-awake, half-dreaming. Chrollo's hand rested at your waist, warm, steady, patient. you tried to focus on the skyline, on the lights flickering to life, on the dying streaks of orange across the Seine. but you felt him. his fingers, the water shifting around his arm, the quiet heat in his gaze.

you exhaled slowly and leaned forward again, letting your hands rest on the edge. It was harmless. it was peaceful.

and then,

he pulled you closer.

not slightly.

not subtly.

his hand slid from your waist to your hip, guiding you back against him until your spine met the warm line of his chest under the water. your breath hitched, sharply, your knees weakening just enough that his other hand lifted instinctively to steady your ribs.

you felt him smile. very faintly, against your shoulder.

" Is there any reason why you are cold? " he asked softly.

" I— " your voice cracked embarrassingly. " I'm alright.. "

" Mm. " his breath brushed your ear, " You're trembling."

" You pulled me, " you whispered, unable to fully gather your thoughts.

" I did. " he said it without apology, without explanation. because he knew you wouldn't pull away.

the warmth of the pool wrapped around your body, but his warmth, his presence, wrapped around something deeper. you stared out at the sunset because looking at him felt impossible now. the horizon blurred, softened, drowning in rose-gold.

Chrollo's thumb traced a slow, steady line along the curve of your hip. barely a touch. barely anything. your pulse answered for you.

" You're quiet, " he murmured.

" You're close. " you managed.

this time he didn't hide the small sound of amusement. " I assumed you'd enjoy it. "

you swallowed hard. " And if I do? "

his grip on your waist tightened, gentle but unmistakably possessive, like he was anchoring you to him in the warm shimmer of the water.

" Obvious, " he whispered, " I'll stay close. "

your breath shivered. the wind brushed over your bare shoulders again, raising goosebumps, ones he felt through the light movement of his hands. he lowered his head just enough that you felt his breath at your neck.

" There's no one watching, " he said quietly.

" Just Paris. Just us. "

your fingers curled around the pool's edge.

the sky dimmed another shade deeper, the last gold melting into violet. the last line of sunlight slipped beneath the horizon, drowning the sky in deep violet. the warm gold that held the two of you in stillness flickered once on the water's surface, then faded. the moment ended.

you felt it like the soft snap of a string. Chrollo did too. his hand, still warm at your waist, stilled. his breath steadied against the side of your neck. the world shifted, the water felt colder around your ribs. a distant siren echoed from the city below, far away. however, not far enough.

his hand tightened, once, as if memorizing the shape of you. then he pulled back, the warmth of his chest leaving your spine in a slow retreat. the pool's lights glimmered on his skin as he stepped away, shadows washing across his collarbones, his jaw, the line of his throat. the quiet was gone now.

" Seems like time is up. " he murmured.

you pushed off the vanishing edge, letting the warm water carry you back toward the steps. the cold hit you immediately when you rose from the pool, droplets sliding down your shoulders, your back, catching the purple of your swimsuit in the dim blue light.

Chrollo was already reaching for a towel, handing it to you before you even asked. you wrapped it around yourself, shivering not from the cold but from the sudden emptiness where his warmth had been.

the sky deepened tonight,

city lights seemed brighter now. sharper.

like they were urging you to move.

you grabbed your things quickly, your shoes, your coat, whatever sense of sobriety you had left. Chrollo moved beside you in that quiet, efficient way of his, towel around his shoulders, footsteps barely sounding against the wet stone.

at the elevator, he pressed the button.

then paused.

you looked up.

he didn't say anything for a moment. his gaze drifted over your face, your damp hair, your flushed cheeks, the slight tremble still in your fingertips.

the elevator doors opened with a soft chime. inside, the cold fluorescent light felt too bright, too real after the sunset's warmth. you stood close because there wasn't much space, and because after everything, distance felt impossible.

the elevator descended.

your heartbeat didn't.

at the lobby floor, the doors opened again, this time to noise, to tension, to hurried footsteps and raised voices. officers in uniforms moved through the area, speaking quickly into their radios.

the air shifted.

Chrollo's hand brushed yours, not grabbing, not pulling, just enough to steady your breath. he leaned slightly toward you, voice low.

" Stay with me. "

" I always do. "

your steps matched his as you walked together toward the far exit, calm, composed, two elegant tourists returning from a late swim, nothing more.

no one looked twice.

until someone did.

" Vous deux, excusez-moi— "

you didn't turn. Chrollo didn't either.

he caught your wrist gently, not tight, just sure, and quickened his pace. not running. not yet. but close. urgency wrapped itself around your ankles like invisible thread.

another voice shouted.

footsteps followed.

Chrollo glanced at you, and his expression, sharp, quiet, certain, told you everything.

Run.

your feet hit the pavement the moment the doors swung open, the night air slamming into your lungs, cold and alive. the city blurred around you, neon lights, headlights, the scent of rain still lingering in the air.

Chrollo's hand was in yours now,

firm, warm, unshakable.

cars rushed past.

people turned.

sirens echoed somewhere behind you, distant but growing.

" Le suspect présumé est introuvable—! " ( The alleged suspect is nowhere to be found—! )

your breath tore from your chest in quick, uneven bursts, but you didn't look back.

you looked at him.

his hair whipped in the wind, his eyes dark and bright all at once, mouth drawn in focus and something softer you couldn’t name.

he squeezed your hand, " We'll be alright. "

" How can you be so sure? "

his jaw tightened, but his voice stayed steady. " Well, you're with me. "

you nearly stumbled at that, not from fear, but from the truth of it, the weight of it, the warmth beneath it.

the night swallowed you both, two silhouettes running through Paris, breathless and alive, suspended between danger and desire, past and future.

together.

always almost lost.

always somehow found.

and as the shadows closed behind you and the city opened ahead, one thought pressed itself into your chest with terrifying clarity,

this wasn't the end.

not even close.

© 2025 by lycheepetals. all rights reserved.

this is a work of fiction. any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and not intended. all characters depicted are not owned by me and belong to their respective creators. this work is purely fictional and for illustrative purposes only.

I HAVE BLESSED HUMANITY WITH CHROLLO FLUFF

the ribeye relay is an actual place in france! i found it on google maps. anyway i hope i used ; and— correctly..