THERE'S NO GLORY IN LOVE.

Feyd reached for a red pen, spun it absently between thumb and forefinger, dipped it toward her mug. “You mind?”

He didn’t wait for permission— coffee was as much his as hers, as far as he was concerned— snatched up the mug and took a thin, appraising sip. Licked a stray drop from his lip, the way a cat might, eyes never leaving hers. The awkwardness in the air wasn’t awkward for him; he wore it like an old scarf, familiar and faintly reeking.

"Scared of me? That's ridiculous." Though there is some gratification derived from the admission. Are they scared of her? Him, too? Why does she secretly find joy in the thought? "How do I manage to do that?"

He squelches the urge to heckle. He’s been a dick all week— more than usual, even for him.

Arches one brow at her, all naked amusement: “Hi.” —and then laughs, low, more through the nose than mouth— “Relax. It’s a hot tub, not a firing squad.”

The half-moon cutout of her throat looks exposed, vulnerable, and he shudders a twinge at the sight. It’s always been there, always— a strip of velvet or silk, always dark, like a line meant to divide her from the rest of the room.

An attempt is made to decide which would make him more of an asshole: mentioning it or ignoring it.

Black silk today, wrapped twice tightly around her throat and a bow just above the top notch of her spine. Willow appears almost alarmed by the reminder of its existence. He's on to something about Marie Antoinette. It takes only a few seconds to recover:

"I might." She smiles. Withholding, but clever about it. It's the kind of non-answer that plays out like flirtation. A hidden 'chase me!' in the lilt of her voice or the way she tilts her head to the side.

The truth is, Willow's gotten used to playing off this security blanket around her throat as a punchline. Mostly, when men comment on it, it's because they want to unravel the thing like some special gift, just for them.

But it's for her. Hers. She seems to sober a bit, laughter turning sincere:

It’s the moment of truth. Dark eyes flicker open, unfocused; Zero winces and whines, then begins to retch. The doctor offers him a large bowl to puke into, retrieved from his bag. Roxy looks on, unmoved, as her client vomits and cries, the skin around his bleary eyes raw and red.

She looks to Willow again, giving a slight nod. She doesn’t want to speak just yet; she has nothing nice to say, but an overdose is an overdose and he should be allowed a little comfort. 

"It's okay. I'm here." With Roxy here with the doctor, she's more inclined to be a little more proper. She sits up straight, maintains a polite, light tone in her voice that might otherwise wilt into too-deep sympathy. She overdosed on her sleeping pills early on into her transition. He was there to help her then. Willow offers him now the same comfort - as much as her touch and her care can give him, of course. "It'll be over soon. You'll feel better."

THIS  IS  WHERE  SHE  GETS  HER  FIRST  APOLOGY.         he  hangs  his  head  in  a  half  bow,  the  words  slipping  from  his  lips  half  hearted  and  a  little  reluctant.  he  feels  like  he  barely  knows  how  to  act  like  a  person  anymore.  the  persona  he  wore  once,  before  eden,  has  been  stripped  from  him,  leaving  him  raw  and  bare.  the  raw  beautiful  gem  of  art  and  rage  held  precious  by  the  hands  of  his  lover,  his  muse,  his  shadow,  his  god  —  he  forgets  that  he  has  to  conceal  it  in  front  of  people.

once  the  seal  is  broken,  it’s  hard  to  go  back.  she  seems  amused  by  it  —  right  now,  at  least.  he’ll  take  what  he  can  get.

“  alcohol  makes  it  worse  —  a-and  you  were  purposefully  poking  my  nerves,  don’t  think  i  don’t  know  what  you  were  doing!  ”        he  laughs  off  the  nerves  —  maybe  the  first  real  smile  she  has  seen  from  him  all  night.  or  since  they  have  met.  he  really  doesn’t  do  that  all  too  often  these  days.

“  you  scared  me,  almost  walking  into  traffic  like  that.  and  i  get  angry  when  i’m  scared  too  —  fight  response.  ”       

Some part of her wants to assure him she'd be fine, but it's kind of nice for someone to worry about her on such a human level right now. Like some part of her is still a person. Willow's not ready to break the illusion just yet. In the calm of her house, it's easy for her to brush off the sound of the traffic anyway, but for a brief moment there she really was afraid, too.

“  BECAUSE  I  NEEDED  YOUR  ATTENTION.  ”        and  that’s  one  hell  of  a  way  to  grab  it.  he  was  also  relieved  she  was  safe.

but  long  before  her,  wires  have  been  crossed.  his  rage  has  been  treated  as  erotic  for  some  time,  celebrated  and  pined  after.  rewarded  with  kisses  and  stranger  tender  acts  that  only  served  to  stoke  the  flames  further.  it’s  also  a  good  way  to  shut  someone  up.  it  also  serves  to  make  his  shadow  jealous.

he  likes  how  exciting  things  get  when  his  shadow  gets  jealous.

“  —  and  i  wanted  to.  and  i’m  drunk.  why  are  you  asking  that  all  of  a  sudden?  does  it  matter?  ”       a  sigh.  the  rest  of  his  water  is  placed  on  the  counter  as  he  paces.  he’s  still  annoyed  enough  not  to  apologize  but  as  he  simmers  down  he  wonders  if  that  was  the  best  thing  to  do.  she  seems  to  have  enjoyed  it,  she  doesn’t  seem  to  mind  at  all.  actually,  if  he  were  to  hazard  a  guess,  she  might  even  be  looking  forward  to  the  possibility  of  another  kiss.  he  stops  his  pacing  to  peer  at  her,  his  brow  furrowed  together.  why  in  the  world  would  someone  want  that?  is  she  sick?  she  deserves  better  than  all  of  that.

still,  no  apology.  she’s  not  likely  to  get  one.  the  scent  of  her  perfume  hits  him  and  his  cheeks  go  a  little  redder  than  they  already  have  been.  he  keeps  his  eyes  staring  into  hers  instead  of  tracing  the  length  of  her  bare  legs  like  he’d  like  to.

“  i  liked  it.  …  did  you?  ”

She seems satisfied by his answer, not too troubled by his nonchalance about it. She could take or leave a second kiss, but she feels a giggle bubble up in her throat when she thinks about the way he pressed her against the wall.

"It was a fun kiss," Willow admits. "I liked it too."

Even though he isn't looking, she feels where his gaze wants to go. She doesn't feel particularly smug or seductive about it - she would have dressed this way if he left her alone at the doorstep - but she does still blush a bit.

Two imposing men post themselves outside Zero’s bedroom door, and a third man—skinnier, handsomer, much less imposing—steps inside with his bag of tricks. He makes his way to the bed, gently folds the blankets off the limp, naked body within, and opens his bag. He smiles gently when he accidentally makes eye contact with Willow, but says little.

Roxy stands over the proceedings, hip cocked and arms crossed. She glances in Willow’s direction.

She watches the doctor work, finds herself feeling squeamish about the treatment and moves to the other side of the room. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she tries to bring some light back into her eyes and smiles at her reflection.

Is it convincing enough? Does she seem more alert, awake, alive?

Go back where you fucking belong.