Esta vida es tan sólo un viaje...💫

They had cleaned most of the house for spring, and Jugo had just come back with groceries.

Suigetsu and Karin were going to cook. Hopefully it was something edible.

Hinata was resting in the backyard looking at the little white flowers that had sprung all around the garden.

He sat next to her and nonchalantly took her hand. She didn't move but a big soft smile formed on her face and her cheeks reddened.

The house was noisy.

It’s with a few shifts that she realizes she isn’t in her own bed.

With a groan, she forces herself upright, a hand immediately coming up to rub over her face. The movement makes her head spin and she stills, waiting for the room to stop tilting.

When it does, she looks down at the sheets that aren’t hers, the memories rushing back.

Dante’s apartment. The bottles scattered across the table, both of them laughing harder than they should’ve been at something neither of them would remember. The way the line between anger and something softer had blurred somewhere between one drink and the next.

The way she’d stopped pretending she didn’t care. How he’d looked at her like she wasn’t just another person passing through his life. Her knees pushed up against her chest as his hips pressed into hers, his hands capturing her face and his mouth on hers.

Lady immediately shakes her head, forcing the memory away. “Nope.”

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, already deciding she’s not dealing with whatever the hell that was. Not now. Not with Dante.

Especially not with Dante.

She gets dressed quickly, as quickly as she had undressed the night before, pulling on her clothes and gathering herself as quietly as possible. The last thing she needs is an awkward conversation first thing in the morning. She’s halfway to the front door when she carefully reaches for the handle.

“Leaving through the front door?” Her hand freezes. “Bold.”

She slowly turns around, heat already crawling up her neck. Dante is standing there, looking far too awake for someone who was drinking just as much as she was last night. His hair is a mess, his shirt missing and somehow he still has that infuriating little smirk on his face. In his hand is a cup of coffee.

“Want some?”

Lady stares at him. “I wasn’t going to-”

She stops herself, because he’s already looking at her like he knows exactly what she was doing. She flares her nostrils.

“Look,” she says, sighing. “About last night. We should just forget it happened, okay?”

Dante looks at her, tilting his head, that familiar grin slowly spreading across his face.

“Huh?”

Lady narrows her eyes. “What?”

“What happened last night?” he asks, completely serious in the most annoying way possible. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She stares at him, then rolls her eyes, walking over and taking the coffee from his hand.

“Right.” She takes a sip, letting the warmth settle into her before handing the cup back. “It’s too early for this anyways. I gotta bounce.”

She turns toward the door, adjusting her weapons on her back. Is her phone charged? God she hopes so.

“See you around?” The question catches her off guard, and Lady glances back at him.

Dante’s head is still tilted, almost like a dog who’s been kicked. She feels a little bad, a little guilty for skipping out on him. She’s pretty sure she had kissed him first, had pulled him to her by the collar and forced her tongue into his mouth. He had responded in equal vigor.

“Sure.” She murmurs, and then she’s gone, the door shut behind her.

The grin falls from Dante’s face. He stares at the door for a long moment before letting out a quiet breath.

“Shit.” His fingers loosen around the coffee cup. The coffee spills over the edge and drips down onto his bare feet. “Ah-shit!” Dante jumps back, hopping from one foot to the other as he tries to cool the burn. “Hot, hot, hot- damn it.”

He shakes his foot, wincing. He focuses on the coffee, on the pain, not on the fact that Lady just walked out of his house like she hadn’t been tangled up in his sheets a few hours ago.

Nope. Definitely not thinking about her, or how she had been moaning against his neck. Not about how, for a few hours, he didn’t feel like he was alone.

“Damn it,” he mutters again.

This time, he’s not talking about the coffee.

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