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-you’ll practically have to beg this man to marry you...but in the end it’s absolutely worth your time. every time you mention marriage he sort of laughs it off, he doesn’t think that having the fact that the two of you are together officially recognized is worth anything when you already know that he’d kill and/or die for you (part of him also figures that you don’t actually want to be stuck with him for the rest of your life given the way that he behaves). despite him caring about you endlessly marriage doesn’t really mean anything to him, the only thing that matters is that you’re by his side 

-after you teasingly ask him if he’s ever going to marry you for what feels like the millionth time he finally realizes that he should probably propose to you at some point. it’s not because he feels forced to, but because he knows it’ll make you happy and although he’d never tell you he has no clue what he’d do without you

-despite how stoic he usually is he’s pretty bad about hiding his plans to marry you. any time you mention marriage or even allude to something related to the concept he tenses up and his eyes widen a little. when you ask him if he’s alright he kisses you or grabs you by the waist in an attempt to distract you from his reaction

-he doesn’t come up with a plan to propose. in fact, he’ll probably ask the day he buys the ring whenever you two find yourselves in any semi-romantic situation, watching the sunset together or something like that. he doesn’t actually say anything, he just wraps his arms around you from behind and casually slips the ring onto your finger, hoping that you’ll realize what he’s attempting to ask. although you’ve told him before that you’d marry him he’s still surprised when you say yes. he’ll smile and hold you tightly when you practically leap into his arms. he’s even more quiet than usual in the moments after, he’s not great with words so he has no idea what to do to convey his love for you other than having you in his arms (he also panics slightly if you cry, he has no clue what he’s doing so he's afraid that he did something wrong)

-he doesn’t change much after you get married. he figures that you love him the way he is (given the fact that you married him) so he doesn’t feel a need to make an effort to better himself–you’re stuck with a messy chainsmoker forever

-he has no interest in an actual wedding ceremony, he can barely be bothered to go to the courthouse and have your marriage officially recognized. the most he’s going to do is be extra affectionate on the day you get married–he’ll buy you flowers and cling to you like you’re the only thing that matters to him (because you really are) while kissing your knuckles occasionally

-knowing that you’re willing to stay with him for the rest of your life makes him happy but also makes him really nervous about fucking up your relationship. being with you has made him realize that he’s quite unstable–something which you’ve fought about multiple times before–and he doesn’t want that to get in the way of you having the life you deserve (which he believes is one that’s much better than what he can give you). to some degree he feels selfish for subjecting you to his issues but he also wouldn’t give up his relationship with you for the world

-if you take your ring off he panics. he figures that you’ve finally gotten tired of him like he expected you would and if you leave it off for long enough he’ll begin thinking about how he can break things off and leave before you do. the second you put it back on he’s relieved but he’ll still be tense around you for a few hours. he'll never admit the he's afraid of you leaving but his body language makes it obvious–the stiffness of his gestures only subsides once you show him that you still love him

-despite his initial disregard for marriage he ends up caring much more about your union than he ever thought he would. he loves that people can tell the two of you are together by looking at the matching rings on your hands, it saves him from having to intimidate anyone for flirting with you. his possessiveness makes him love that you're legally bound to each other

-this man is literally willing to put himself into debt to get your attention. every time he sees you he has to make sure that he’s paying you the most and giving you the most attention, throwing paper bills at you like they couldn’t mean any less to him. you’re his favorite and he makes sure you and everyone else know it 

-you usually only see him a couple nights a week but after a while he gets desperate enough for you that he comes to the club every night. as cocky as he is, his attempts to get your attention are typically quite subtle. he starts with glancing at you occasionally from afar and winking at you every time you happen to make eye contact with him to sitting closer and closer to where you are while throwing copious amounts of money at you and hoping that he stands out to you. even though he tries not to make his attraction obvious, he’s quite impatient and you’ll likely end up having an encounter with him within a few weeks of the first time you see him

-the first time you run into him is outside of the club after you get done working one night. he’s standing propped against the side of his motorcycle smoking a cigarette when your eyes lock onto his–he tries to act nonchalant like he hasn’t been standing there waiting for you. you know you’ve seen him before and something compels you to approach him (maybe the fact that he’s been paying your rent and then some for nearly a month…or maybe the fact that he’s just about the only hot guy you’ve spotted while working). from the second you begin talking to him he flirts with you relentlessly–every other sentence out of his mouth is him praising you or calling you a sleazy pet name. by the time your conversation ends he has your phone number and your face is hot from how much he’s made you blush

-after the two of you get together he lingers around the club even more as if he’s your own personal bodyguard. if anyone gets too handsy or harasses you he’s not afraid to rough them up a bit (or take them outside, beat the shit out of them, and leave them in an alley–but he’d never tell you that) 

-his tendency to spend ridiculous amounts of money on you continues after you get together. clothes, shoes, makeup–anything you could ever dream of he’ll buy for you 

-he can’t help but feel jealous that other people get to stare at you all night. he’ll get super clingy before you leave for work and playfully try to keep you from leaving (you compromise with him by saying you’ll try on all of your outfits for him and let him pick what you wear, which he takes as a win). 

-whenever he finds himself getting particularly jealous of someone else who’s giving you attention he just shoves a stack of money in your hand and drags you to one of the back rooms in the club where the two of you can be alone. things tend to…escalate…from there

-he brags about you constantly. he takes any conversation he overhears about you at the club as a chance to praise you and mention that you’re his

-he has a pole installed in his apartment so you can practice…he definitely doesn’t have ulterior motives

pierro:

-at first he has no genuine interest in you, but he’ll still be courteous towards you for appearance’s sake. he’ll hold doors open for you, assign guards to escort you anywhere you want to go, and put his arm around you whenever you’re walking together. despite the tenderness of his gestures, it still seems like his feelings towards you are as cold as the snowy snezhnayan winter, very few things are able to sway pierro’s stoic demeanor 

-in an attempt to get closer to you, he’ll take you out on walks in the middle of the night, it’s just about the only free time he gets and he likes to avoid the watchful eyes of the public. since you’re being forced to spend the rest of your days together, he figures he might as well spend some time with you. for a while you walk side by side in silence with your hand resting upon his arm as he guides you around the city, you can’t think of anything that you could discuss with the head of the fatui harbingers. one night when you’re feeling particularly bold, you ask him how his day was. pierro pauses for a moment before letting out a barely audible chuckle that rumbles out of his broad chest. he simply states that he’d rather hear about your day and says your endeavors are likely more interesting than his since he spends more time giving orders and doing paperwork than anything else. under the guise of wishing to listen to you excitedly talk about what you do with your time, pierro keeps you protected from the reality of the dirty work he finds himself caught up in as the director of the fatui (although he has come to enjoy the sound of your voice) 

-you realize that he’s actually starting to become fond of you when he briefly neglects his duties to be with you. he’ll cut meetings with the harbingers short so he can visit you and allow you to come into his office while he works through mounds of diplomatic paperwork

-you’re sitting on a couch in pierro’s large office absentmindedly flipping through the pages of a book when a fatui underling stumbles in through the door with a bouquet of padisarah flowers cradled in both of his arms. the young and very obviously nervous young man stutters out something along the lines of “where is your lover’s room again, lord harbinger?” your face flushes as you glance over at pierro, who pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, “just bring them to my desk.” pierro stares down the underling as he scurries towards his desk and gently places the massive bouquet on it before swiftly making his way to the door. your eyes stay locked on pierro as his spindly fingers wrap around the flowers, grasping the carefully trimmed stems just above the pale blue ribbon tied in a bow around them. he saunters over to where you’re sitting and gently places the flowers in your arms. “i had them imported from sumeru since…” pierro’s voice trails off and your eyes widen at the thought of him feeling shy in your presence, “we got married one year ago today.” his intensely blue eyes meet your gaze after he finishes speaking. “they’re beautiful,” you smile, “thank you, pierro.” “not nearly as beautiful as you, my dear” he replies as his gloved hand gingerly cradles your face, his chilly fingers being a stark contrast to your flushing skin. the interaction leaves you unspeakably flustered and has you looking forward to many more years of being wed to pierro

capitano:

-much like pierro he’s not particularly interested in having a romantic relationship with you, but he won’t be completely cold and stoic with you like he is with other people, he doesn’t want you to be afraid of him. he also won’t really be physically affectionate, the most he’s going to do is put his arm out for you to hold while you’re walking together as he doesn’t want to lose his reputation of being a formidable and powerful harbinger

-he allows you to follow him around most days while he gives orders to fatui soldiers and meets with the other harbingers. he’ll stop to talk with you every now and then but doesn’t go out of his way to be romantic or give off the impression that your marriage is founded in the two of you being attracted to each other

-part of him finds your presence comforting, capitano hasn’t had any sort of companion in so long and being around someone that isn’t ordering him around or battling with him makes a foreign sense of warmth well up within his decaying chest. he eventually finds himself infatuated with you and the softness you bring into his life–he longs to find a way to show you he cares about you without making you uncomfortable 

-one night while you’re waiting for capitano to get out of a confidential meeting with the other harbingers a couple of guards begin frisking you, asking why you’ve been lingering in the hall for so long and not taking your answer that you’re married to capitano as the truth. just as tears begin to crawl across your lashline, you feel a large, heavy hand fall onto your shoulder. as you turn around, your eyes fall upon your foreboding husband standing behind you. “are they bothering you, dearest?” capitano asks in his deep, stern voice. you nod frantically, taking the opportunity to cling onto his strong arm. the guards skitter away at the sight of one of the most powerful harbingers staring them down, not wanting to subject themselves to whatever getting on his bad side looks like. even after they leave, you remain clinging onto capitano, reveling in how protected he makes you feel. gazing down at your still shaking form, he says “i’m sorry you had to deal with them. is there anything i can do to make up for my absence, sweetheart?” the emphasis he places on the pet name has your heart fluttering, so much so that you can’t find the words to respond to his question (even though you know exactly what you want). instead of responding, you simply curl into his chest. you assume that he can tell how you feel about him from the way one of his arms wraps around your waist while his other hand gently holds the back of your head–you’re completely unaware of how long he’s been waiting to do so

dottore:

-he uses you as a lab assistant…until you make a mistake…then he just lectures you and expects you to watch and ask questions about his (evil) genius scientific process. he loves to show off and he knows that you really have no choice but to stay with him so you’ll be stuck in his lab a lot of the time watching him work (unless he’s doing one of his cruel human experiments, he spares you from the sight of those)

-it takes him forever to show any bit of warmth towards you. he’s never really cared for marriage and being wed to you is no different to him, he views forming relationships as a waste of time. however, he’ll eventually start to realize that you’re the only person whose presence he can tolerate and he curses himself for beginning to go soft. you’ve lingered around his lab for so long that he’s gotten used to your endless questions and sometimes clumsy movements, he’s even begun to find them comforting, familiar. the way that you bump into his desk and occasionally hand him the wrong test tube used to anger him, but watching you learn how to navigate his lab and what subjects interest him the most has been (as much as he hates the word) endearing 

-the next time dottore beckons you to his laboratory so you can hand him samples while he works he finds the tips of his ears burning every time your hands come close to his. he huffs under his breath, infuriated that his body is subjecting him to such trivial, juvenile emotions. you notice the change in his demeanor and ask him if he’s feeling alright to which he frustratedly throws his hands against his desk, sighing deeply before motioning for you to come closer to him. hesitantly, you approach him, even after knowing each other for a while his anger still intimidates you. the moment you look up at him he presses his lips against yours. his kiss is fleeting, more so his lips briefly coming into contact with yours than an actual kiss–it ends before you can fully process what’s happening. he can’t help but smile crookedly at the sight of your face heating up just as his did moments earlier. “fascinating,” he mutters, “so you have begun to fall for me.” your cheeks flush as dottore speaks, the way that he talks about your feelings so clinically like you’re one of his experiments makes you feel embarrassed for having a physical reaction to his kiss. before you can muster a half-hearted excuse, he turns and walks away, calling out “i’ll see you after i’m done working, darling” in a condescending tone as he wanders to another part of the lab. you take it as a cue to go back to your room and contemplate what your relationship with dottore has evolved into  

arlecchino:

-she is extremely cold towards you for a while, she sees your marriage as nothing more than a legal union and doesn’t really care to pay attention to you. she won’t be rude to you when you’re together, but she believes she has more important things to do than form any sort of relationship with you. most of the time you spend with her is at political events where the two of you are expected to make an appearance together and whenever you happen to run into her in snezhnaya

-arlecchino tends to keep her distance from you–she doesn’t want you to distract her from her work and also thinks you deserve to be protected from the dangerous fatui business that you didn’t ask to be a part of. 

-after you’ve been married for a while she takes you with her whenever she visits the house of the hearth because the children keep asking about you and desperately want to meet the person who father married (that and she doesn’t have to worry about protecting you from the other harbingers while you’re in fontaine). the first time you visit you’re greeted with a chorus of “oos” and “ahs” from the children crowding around you who marvel at the sight of arlecchino’s supposed lover. she can’t help but grin ever so slightly at the sight of you reading to and playing with the children she cares about so much 

-while you’re in fontaine together she takes you on a date at hotel debord. you’re surprised and somewhat intimidated by the invitation, but also afraid of what will happen if you turn her down. she reserves a private table for the two of you on the second floor and orders a bottle of champagne that you can tell cost a few thousand mora just from the intricate design on the golden glass bottle. the two of you spend the evening talking, arlecchino seems much more willing to open up to you outside of the harsh environment of the fatui’s headquarters in snezhnaya. she tells stories about her travels and leaves out the gruesome details, her face flushes when you stare at her, your eyes sparkling as you compliment her strength. towards the end of your date she looks at you and says “we should do this more often.” it’s the softest you’ve ever heard her usually monotone voice sound, and you can’t help but agree with her

signora:

-she treats you like you’re her new pet kitten–like you’re a plaything for her to show off. she’s not exactly romantic or affectionate with you behind closed doors but in public she’ll flaunt your relationship to whoever’s willing to listen. she tells all of the other harbingers about how perfect you are and is all over you whenever you’re out together, she loves to wrap her arm around your shoulders and keep you as close to her as humanly possible so everyone can see that a lovely little thing like you is hers 

-signora doesn’t spend much time with you in private but she loves to take you out on dates and be as flashy as possible. she’ll buy you expensive custom made clothes and make your outings as much of a spectacle as she can. she loves watching reporters attempt to subtly follow the two of you and obtain information regarding your relationship while she parades you around as if you’re a priceless piece of jewelry

-whenever you’re not around signora does find herself feeling lonely. her attitude causes most of the other harbingers to keep their distance from her so you’re really the only person she has to talk to and she finds herself wanting to get closer to you. however, she has no clue how to approach you romantically without scaring you off or being too bold or embarrassing herself so she just waits for an opportunity to do so to naturally present itself

-one day you return from an outing with a few fatui skirmishers somewhat beaten up after getting a little too close during their encounter with a frostarm lawachurl. upon seeing the state you’re in, signora scolds the entire group, going on about how someone closely associated with one of the harbingers should never be put in such a dangerous situation and how the skirmishers should feel lucky that she’s not ending them right then and there, all while caging you in her protective embrace. you assume that her touch is purely for show, but even when the two of you are alone she keeps her arms wrapped around you, gently running her hands over your scrapes and bruises. you can’t help but avoid making eye contact with her, you’re not used to signora being so genuinely affectionate with you. “you must be more careful,” she says, her typical cocky demeanor softening, “you are very precious to me.” her admission makes you hide your face in the crook of her neck, to which she chuckles softly. you would have never expected it, but signora’s grand displays of affection for you were starting to become genuine

pantalone:

-he doesn’t really bother to spend time with you, he instead chooses to commemorate your marriage by presenting you with an abundance of expensive gifts (include your massive, glimmering wedding ring that was custom made for you using the finest diamonds in teyvat, which everyone you encounter can’t help but stare at). almost every week you’ll find a new luxury item in your room–handbags, fur coats, perfume, jewelry–anything that pantalone thinks will keep you from demanding a divorce. he’s a busy man so it’s easier for him to perpetuate the illusion of you two being married by gifting you items that only his unfathomable wealth could come close to affording

-after a few of the harbingers begin teasing him for never bringing you around, pantalone keeps you by his side as if you’re some sort of luxurious accessory, hoping that he can use your marriage as another means to get whatever he wants. he’ll expect you to follow him around as he works and look expensive and intimidating just as he does. on top of that, he’ll sometimes treat you as his secretary, giving you the same condescending smile he gives everyone else as he asks you to bring files to his office or to deliver a message to someone 

-although he would never admit that he’s falling for you, pantalone relies on you a lot. the small things that you do for him add up and make his hectic work life slightly less busy. pantalone begins to associate your presence with tranquility, like a beacon of gentleness in the ruthless sphere of fatui business. you never frustrate him like many other people do, you just walk alongside him and occasionally ask if there’s anything you can do to help him, something that he doesn’t realize he appreciates until he really thinks about it. although his first instinct is to repay you with material goods, he begins to realize that actually acting like your husband would likely be a more efficient way to keep you happy (and would make it easier for him to get what he wants from you in the future)

-while you’re carrying a large pile of papers down one of the massive corridors of the zapolyarny palace a fatui diplomat bumps into you, causing the pages in your arms to fly out of your grasp and scatter across the floor. “watch where you’re going,” he hisses as you scramble to gather the files that pantalone had entrusted you with. a moment later you hear a voice from behind you. “how about you watch how you’re speaking to a harbinger’s lover” pantalone chides at the other man who’s still standing a few steps away from you. the man can barely muster an apology as he tries to fearfully scurry away from pantalone’s intimidating stare. you gaze up at your purple-eyed husband who, much to your surprise, kneels alongside you on the floor and helps you gather the files you dropped. he then stands and takes the pile from you before cupping your face with his empty hand, the metal of the many rings adorning his fingers is chilly against your skin. “no one will ever speak to you like that again while you’re with me, my little gem,” he says in an unfamiliarly sweet tone. you can only focus on keeping your mouth from dropping open in surprise as pantalone offers his hand for you to hold while the two of you walk together so he can show everyone that you’re his

childe:

-really the only harbinger that acts like you’re actually a married couple. he introduces you to his family, showers you with gifts, and goes out of his way to spend time with you (he loves ice skating/fishing with you and telling you stories alongside his siblings). half the time you’ll forget that you didn’t actually choose to marry him, anyone who observed the two of you together would be convinced you’ve been in love for years 

-childe knew it would only be a matter of time before he began to fall for you, from the second he saw you he thought you were beautiful, not tainted by violence and abyssal energy like he is. although he can be quite cocky, he’s still a bit nervous that his feelings aren’t mutual. you’re one of the few people outside of his family who’s shown him kindness and he doesn’t want to ruin what he has with you

-if he can’t get you to stay with him he will kidnap you. he won’t drug or restrain you in any way when he does, he wants you to know that he’s able to overpower you and physically keep you from leaving him. his grasp on you is strong enough that you give up on fighting against him after a bit of struggling, you can tell that he’s not going to give up and let you get away from him

-he will threaten you and come very close to hurting you and then get so angry with himself that he’ll just leave for hours. you’ll be alone and locked in his small apartment until he calms down and considers forgiving himself for what he’s done to you. by the time he returns all he wants to do is wrap his arms around you, he feels as if you’re the only thing that keeps him sane

-since he’s not super talkative he often finds other ways to manipulate you. he’ll be overly physically affectionate with you just so he can watch you begin to let your guard down around him. however, he will verbally tell you that he’s the only person who can protect you and ensure that you’re safe in hopes of convincing you to stay (not that you really have a choice)

-when you cry because you’re so scared of him he just smiles and wipes the tears off of your face. he thinks that fear is the most effective way to get you to stay with him–he knows you’re afraid of him, but more afraid of what will happen to you if you leave him

-finds ways to get you into dangerous situations so he has the opportunity to save you and (hopefully) make you love him, he loves feeling like your savior and seeing the way you look at him all teary-eyed when you’re fearing for your life

-he makes sure to kill/hurt at least one person in front of you so you’re aware that he’ll do anything for you and can see that he’s more than willing to commit horrifically violent acts without flinching. he doesn't particularly want to hurt you but he wants you to know that if he has to he can

-obviously he’s not hesitant to murder people, so he’ll kill anyone that looks at you or talks to you in a way that he doesn’t like, he sees it as a way of not only keeping you protected from all the filthy people in the world but also proving his devotion to you, showing you that he’ll dispose of anybody who makes you uncomfortable or is a threat to your relationship with him

-he’s very two-sided. part of him loves when you’re afraid of him, shaking and cowering in a corner just at the sight of him knowing that he’s willing to do literally anything to keep you in his grasp while another part of him would sooner kill everyone on the planet than hurt you. he’ll threaten you as much as he needs to get you to stay with him and also treat you like you’re the most precious thing in the world who doesn’t deserve to be in a shitty situation being tainted by a shitty man 

-you catch him staring at you often. you’re the only thing he cares about and the only thing that makes him happy, you can tell just by the way he looks at you. his typically lifeless and apathetic gaze becomes completely lovesick whenever he sees you

-if you ever try to leave him he’ll tell you that without his protection someone will hurt or kill you (which is pretty easy for him to “prove” to you given the threatening messages on his answering machine)

-he steals a ring from one of the people he kills and gives it to you, he sees it as a way of claiming you and he gets extremely upset when you don’t wear it because he feels like you’re rejecting him

-very rarely he’ll let you leave his apartment. he’s extremely paranoid about losing you so he’ll never let you go out alone and he’ll be glued to you the entire time, always keeping his hand in yours or an arm around your waist to ensure you can’t get away (and so no one else even thinks about speaking to you)

-he doesn’t usually tell you how infatuated he is with you, but you can tell by the way he holds you. sometimes his fingers will grip your flesh so hard it’s painful, as if he’s trying to force the love he feels for you into your skin. he also likes to have his hands all over you and play with your hair

-his presence is intimidating enough that he’s able to keep you in line. you come to despise how much control he has over you, the fact that he can make you complacent and coax you into his arms with just one look 

-he is all over you most of the time. he’s super touchy (even outside of sexual situations) and will run his hands all over your body out in public if you let him. the second he gets any bit of alcohol in him he’ll start kissing your neck and grabbing your waist, you’ll literally have to peel him off of you

-he’s super into exhibitionism, he’ll do shit with you in as public of a space as he possibly can (bathroom stalls, closets, even dark corridors in clubs). the possibility of being caught is thrilling to him and he likes the idea of people hearing you and knowing that you’re his

-he’ll essentially do whatever you ask him to, he’s down for just about anything. you want him to fuck you on his bike? absolutely. you want him to tease you with the knives he carries around with him? done. 

-loves forcing you to make eye contact with him. his hands tend to linger on your jaw and waist and he pulls your hair quite often. sometimes he’ll put his meat cleaver underneath your chin to get you to look at him 

-major dirty talker. he literally never shuts up and is in your ear constantly

-he draws out foreplay for as long as possible and loves to tease you. he will literally kiss every inch of your body before he lets you have what you want. he loves seeing your face get red (and he wants to see if he can make tears well up in your eyes while you whine for him)

-being dominant is his default but he’s definitely not opposed to you taking control. if he ever gets tired of you having power over him he’ll just flip you over and pin you down–he likes being able to move you however he wants

-angry sex…especially when he’s jealous. he’ll grab your face to force you to look at him and tell him how good he makes you feel (and sometimes he’d rather just fuck you than argue with you)

-he’s somewhat decent with aftercare. sometimes he’ll act like he doesn’t give a shit about you if he’s trying to seem cool but if you end up being in a relationship for a while he doesn’t feel a need to hide the fact that he cares about you. he knows he can be rough and wants to make sure you’re ok

-you’ll have to date him for a long time before he even considers marrying you. for a while it’s his commitment issues that make him hesitate regarding marriage, but eventually it turns into him being afraid of “ruining” you in some way. he’s aware that he’s a bit of a mess and he’s dabbled in some suspicious things throughout his life and he doesn’t want any of that to rub off on you, he sees you as a perfect angel and he’s terrified of his past negatively affecting you. he’ll ask you if you’re actually willing to marry him multiple times before he ever actually proposes 

-he comes up with a really elaborate plan to propose to you but he ends up abandoning it and proposes completely on impulse. one night while you’re out on a date together he looks at you and realizes how much you mean to him, how upset he’d be if he lost you without making you his forever. he doesn’t even kneel, he just pulls the box with the ring in it out of his pocket and places it in your hand. he’s baffled when you say yes, even if you’ve said before that you would marry him. he can’t find any words to say to you, to describe how happy he is, so he just holds you as close to him as humanly possible 

-when you agree to marry him he really tries to clean himself up. he attempts to stay away from alcohol and whatever other substances but it’s hard for him to not use those things as a coping mechanism with all of the shit he’s seen. even with his efforts at bettering himself he’s still a bit of a mess (you’ll probably have to bail him out of bar fights a few times, but he really does try his best to be better for you)

-he allows himself to be a lot more soft around you after you’re married. knowing that you’re willing to stay with him for life makes him feel like he can be vulnerable and he’s much more likely to be sappy and tell you how much he loves you and all that

-he’s definitely the type of person to constantly talk about the fact that you’re married. he’ll mention it any time he gets the chance and will refer to himself as your husband whenever he can (he melts when he hears you do the same, no matter how much time passes he still can’t believe that you said yes to marrying him)

-the ring he proposes to you with is obnoxiously fancy, he wants to make sure everyone can see the gems gleaming on your ring finger and know that you’re his. he loves when people ask about it and will go on and on about why he picked the ring he did

-despite how flashy he is regarding your marriage, he’s not the type to want an elaborate wedding ceremony. he’d much rather have a low-key courthouse wedding and spend the rest of the day with you without anyone else around to take your attention away from him 

-after marrying you he wants to get the two of you out of miami (if you haven’t left already). he doesn’t want to take any chances with somebody who he pissed off in the past finding you and hurting you, he wants to have as close to a normal life as he can with you

298 months

1,292 weeks

9,064 days

Almost 25 years since you last had contact with Ryland.

The numbers ring in your head as a near constant reminder of your loneliness, growing more substantial as time drags on. You knew living the rest of your life without him would be challenging, but you never expected it to be this terrible. 

You haven’t slept soundly since he left. 

You’ve spent countless nights writing notes that he’ll never get to read and staring up at the stars, hoping that he can somehow sense your gaze, even from 11.9 light years away. Dark circles had taken a permanent residence underneath your eyes a while ago. The thought of the man you love dying as a hero brings you no solace. It’s selfish, sure, but you want him for yourself, it’s not fair that you’re expected to continue on existing without seeing him ever again. 

One evening, a knock at the door interrupts another one of your seemingly endless days spent half-sulking and half-yearning. Gazing through the peephole, you spot a head of nearly grey red hair on the other side. Eva Stratt, the woman who gave your boyfriend a one way ticket to Tau Ceti. No matter how upset you feel, you’ve never resented her for her decision. After all, the fate of humanity was on the line, and Ryland was more than capable of figuring out how to save the stars. You open the door and greet her, trying your best to appear pleasant despite how horribly your grief has been lingering around you. 

As always, she immediately gets to the point of why she’s come to visit you. “The probes arrived a few weeks ago, we just finished analyzing all of the information they contained.” 

Reaching into the pocket of her wool coat, she pulls out a plastic bag with an SD card and a small bronze-ish box within it. 

“Dr. Grace sent this back on one of them. It had your name on it.” She relays in her usual clinical tone with just a hint of sympathy present in her words. 

Your heart skips a beat, you weren’t expecting to hear from him ever again, and a tiny glimmer of irrational hope pangs through your chest. 

“Thank you.” You offer her a half-hearted smile as you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering from the chilly air coming through the doorway. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Stratt says, smiling slightly as she waves before turning to walk away. 

A weight settles over you once she leaves. Despite your near constant state of aching for Ryland’s return, you’ve never liked to confront your feelings regarding his absence head-on, and now you’re face-to-face with his final message for you. You sit at his old desk, placing your computer on top of the messy pile of papers that you never had the heart to clean up, breathing unevenly as you try and fail to mentally prepare yourself for whatever he could have to say after being away from you for so many years. 

Fingers quivering, you slide the SD card into the laptop. A lump begins to form in your throat as your mind races imagining what he could’ve put on it. You know this is your last chance to see him alive, the thought makes you feel sick. 

Slowly dragging the mouse across the screen, you click on the first video in the short list. Tears already threaten to roll down your cheeks at the sight of his face in the thumbnail. Taking a deep breath, you press play.

“Hi,” he states, waving at the camera while looking slightly disheveled.

Hearing his voice makes your chest ache. You had nearly forgotten what he sounds like. 

“I’m not quite sure who you are right now, but it seems like you mean a lot to me.” He pauses to hold a picture of you two up to the camera. 

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of the polaroid in his hand. You still remember the day it was taken, out on the beach that Ryland loved so much, his arms wrapped around you like you were the only thing he’d ever need as a dorky grin adorned his face. The two of you together, happily, something that would never happen again. 

He turns the picture around and looks at it himself before continuing. 

“Assuming that you’re still alive after all of this, I decided I’d leave a few messages for you to look back on when I’m gone.”

Gone. The word sends a chill through you. He’s gone, probably dead, having spent the rest of his shortened life far away from you.

“I’ll…talk to you soon?” He hesitates, unsure of how to address you given the fact that you’re not actually having a conversation and you’ll never be able to respond to him.

A shaky breath leaves you as the recording ends and the next one pops up on the screen. He looks significantly more distressed this time, sniveling as he steadies the camera.

He clears his throat before speaking. “I uh, just remembered the last date we went on before I left.” Looking down at his lap, a small sob leaves him as he tries and fails to hold back his tears. 

The memory rushes to your mind after he finishes his sentence. It was a while after he began working on Project Hail Mary, but before you were informed that he was going to be ripped away from you forever. He held onto you more tightly than he ever had before, you didn't even think to ask him if there was a reason why. Three days later, he was gone.

“I can’t believe I had to leave you behind.” His voice is significantly quieter now, hidden behind his tears.  

You bite your lip, attempting to suppress the urge to break down and cry. 

“I just want you to know that I love you.” 

With that, you begin sobbing alongside him. It’s been so long since you last heard those three words from him, the three words he used to mutter any chance he had. Shoulder slumping, you shake, burying your face in your hands as your body convulses with heartbreak.

You pause the video before the next one begins playing, taking a moment to breathe and wipe tears from your face before continuing on. 

For a couple seconds, the camera is blurry as Ryland adjusts the angle of it on the tripod. 

“In case you were worried about me being lonely and sad out here in the cosmic void, I wanted to introduce you to my new friend.” 

“Grace mate! Hello!” A five-legged creature that looks as if it’s made out of rock chimes in from a contraption that resembles a hamster ball. 

“This is Rocky. He’s from Erid, a planet that also happens to have an astrophage problem,” Ryland leans in close to the camera. “He practically begged me to make this video after I mentioned you.” He whispers.

“Mentioned, question? Grace never shut up about mate. Always talk about missing…what was word…kissing mate.” 

“Ok that’s enough.” Ryland says as he hurries to stop the recording while Rocky continues rambling in the background. 

A smile spreads across your face. Ryland’s students used to laugh over how he’d talk about you, you’re happy to hear that he’s still head-over-heels in love with you. Your eyes focus on the computer screen once again as the next video begins playing. 

“Well, I only have enough space to record one more thing for you before I have to tell everyone back home how to save the planet.” He pauses to sit down at one of the lab tables before continuing. ”But, you’ll be glad to know I saved the best for last” 

“Hopefully you haven’t opened the suspicious looking box that I sent back for you.” 

“Rocky box not suspicious. Rocky box beautifully crafted.” The robotic translator interrupts from behind him.

Ryland leans out of the frame, but you can hear him mutter “Hey bud, I’m trying to be romantic here.” 

“Anyways,” he says, turning back towards the lens. “You should open it now, I wanna watch.” He lowers his glasses and leans towards the screen, making it look like he’s actually observing your actions. 

You run your fingers over the edge of the box, taking in the odd metallic texture of the material that’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Slowly, you pull off the lid and hold the bottom half of the box in your palm. 

“That,” he chimes in, almost making it feel like you’re having a real conversation, “is something my good friend Rocky and I worked together on.”

“Rocky make present for Grace mate.” Ryland’s rock-creature companion adds, jostling around excitedly as he speaks. 

Reaching into the box, your trembling hand pulls out the small object that was inside of it. An intricately crafted ring sits between your fingers. Newly formed tears make their way to your lashline as you observe the piece of jewelry, all of the shiny geometric patterns covering it glimmer when the light hits them. Just as you realize the implications of what’s in your hand, Ryland begins speaking again. 

“I didn’t have it in me to ask when I was with you on Earth, but I figured it might be a little easier from a few light years away.”

His voice becomes softer, reminiscent of the way he used to talk just before you fell asleep in his arms. 

“I want to be with you forever, even if I can’t be with you.” 

Shakily, you put the ring onto your finger, silently wishing Ryland was able to do it for you, wishing that you could accept his proposal and happily collapse into his arms.

“I love you. Remember that, ok?” He looks directly at the camera as he speaks, finality evident in his voice. 

Staring down at the ring on your finger, you imagine all of the futures you could’ve had together with Ryland, dreaming that any of them could have come true. The thought of never being able to tell him how much you love him weighs heavily on your chest, making it hard for you to breathe. Running your fingers over the ring on your hand keeps you grounded as your thoughts dwell on the cruelness of the cosmos, the weight of the jewelry being the only thing that makes you feel like you're still connected to the man who is doomed to eternally be your fiancé.

You stand up from where you’re sitting and turn towards the window behind you. Looking out at the stars, all of the twinkling constellations that the man you love managed to save, you quietly mutter “I love you, Ry,” hoping that he hears you.

-if you meet him out somewhere it’ll probably be at a bar/club or vhs rental store. he doesn’t go out much after he starts “working” for 50 blessings but there’s a chance you’ll spot him if you frequent the same places he does

-from the first time he looks at you he can’t get you off of his mind. he feels like he has to get close to you (when he falls for someone he falls HARD) but he’s not exactly bold enough to just walk up to you and start flirting

-for a while he doesn’t come over and talk to you he just stares at you and hopes that you’ll notice him. he has no clue how to flirt and doesn’t care to learn so he does things in his own somewhat scary somewhat endearing way 

-if you don’t end up approaching him he’ll either come over to you or just leave it up to fate and hope that you see each other again. when he does come up to you he’ll look at you silently with no emotion on his face and give you his number on a slip of paper before walking away, he thinks pickup lines and things of that sort are ridiculous so his first few interactions with you are quite simple and a little awkward with how quiet he is

-if you want to talk to him first give him a cigarette with your number on it, it’ll get his attention and doesn’t force him to talk to you until he’s ready 

-when you first start dating he’s really quiet but he starts to talk to you a little bit more as time goes on. don’t expect him to start conversations though, he’s still not super talkative even when he warms up to you. he’s much more likely to just silently wrap his arms around you and rest his chin on top of your head or cradle your face in his hands instead of verbally saying that he loves you

-he uses pet names quite often, most of the time you’ll hear “baby/babe,” “princess,” “dollface,” or anything else slightly sleazy

-the first time he kisses you is after he comes home one night while he’s half aware of what he’s doing and still covered in blood. he stumbles into your shared bedroom and wraps his arms around you immediately. he holds onto you tightly, leading you to assume that’s he’s seen something worse than what he usually deals with. before your brain can even register what he’s doing he’s pressing his lips against yours. he’s desperate to be close to you, grasping at you like you’re his lifeline, something you’d never expect out of him. his lips don’t leave yours until you’re both out of breath and he smirks at you when you’re so surprised and flustered that you hide your face in his chest as he continues holding you close 

-he’s quite possessive and gets jealous easily. when you’re out together and someone looks at you he holds onto you h a r d and keeps you as close to him as he possibly can while he stares down the other person. he’s literally threatened people for looking at you for too long…if he catches someone flirting with you you’re going to have to hold him back. you’re his and he wants you and everyone else to know. part of the reason why he feels that way is because he’s afraid that anyone who gets near you is trying to hurt you or take you from him so he’ll be super protective over you

-he thinks it’s absolutely adorable when you wear his jacket. the first time you do you absentmindedly throw it over your shoulders and wonder why he can’t make eye contact with you, it’s one of the few times you’ll see him be blatantly flustered. any time you’re cold or if someone is staring at you while you’re wearing a revealing outfit he’ll give it to you to wear

-he’s not completely against pda but don’t expect him to be all over you in public. he’ll hold your hand or put his arm around you, though (and he’ll occasionally kiss you, mostly when he’s drunk or high)

-when you’re alone he’s somewhat touchy. since he doesn’t talk a lot he tends to show affection physically, he’ll have an arm around you or a hand resting on one of your thighs almost constantly 

-from the time he meets you he’s completely infatuated with the idea of being with you but it takes him a while to become emotionally attached to you. he falls in love quickly but doesn’t expect you to stick around for long so he’s hesitant to let himself be obsessed with you

-sleeping next to him is…interesting. he rarely sleeps given the fact that he’s usually out half of the night but when he does he has nightmares often so sometimes you’ll wake up to him holding onto you so hard it hurts and breathing raggedly. he doesn’t like to talk about the horrible dreams he has but he’s secretly really happy when you hold him close and run your fingers through his hair after he wakes up from one. he’s not used to someone caring for or comforting him but he loves when you do it

-even when he doesn’t sleep he’ll lay next to you and hold you while you’re sleeping. he likes to wrap his arms around your waist tightly but leaves a small distance between you so he can see your face and watch you breathe. he’ll usually get out of bed before you wake up so you don’t catch him doing it

-he’s really paranoid about taking you on dates in public but he’ll still do it occasionally to make you happy. if he does take you out it’ll most likely be to a bar so he gets to spend time with you and also drink to distract himself from his mess of a life. other than that, he takes you out on drives a lot so he doesn’t have to worry about you getting hurt by someone else

-he is so unbelievably scared of losing you and it’s something he thinks about a lot. he tries his best to hide it to keep you from worrying but every night that he leaves he’s afraid that he won’t come home to you or that he’ll come home to your dead body. before the phone beckons him away from you he’ll hold you close and actually say that he loves you, he treats it as if it’s truly his last few minutes with you 

-marriage is never a thought that crosses his mind no matter how long you’re together. he’s so used to one night stands and short-term relationships that he’s kind of forgotten marrying someone is an option and he’s not planning his future when he’s worried about surviving one night at a time. he’ll stay with you for as long as your relationship works, but he’s not really into formal commitment 

-he puts the hot in hot mess. dating him feels like charity work sometimes but he loves you a lot (and will kill and die for you)

nsfw:

-he can be quite rough because he’s so accustomed to violence and only touching people with the goal of killing them. he has to learn how to be gentle with you and it takes him a while to do so, most of the time you end up with quite a few bruises from how tightly he grabs and holds onto you (he likes that, though, it marks you as his and he loves to trace his fingers over them to make you flustered)

-he’s not particularly into tying you up and all that but he’ll pin your hands above your head to keep you still. he doesn’t do it often though because he loves the feeling of you holding onto him

-he has a mild blood kink, he likes to touch you with fresh blood still on his hands and leave it smeared all over you (especially on your chest and face/neck)

-he likes when your nails dig into his back and arms while you hold onto him and he likes it even more if you draw blood. he already has quite a few scars so having scratches/marks that remind him of you when he sees them makes him happy, he also mildly enjoys the pain 

-he’s quite dominant and likes to have control over you (because he literally has control over nothing else in his life). the closest he’s ever going to get to submissive is zoning out and letting you do whatever

-if you’re into it he’ll definitely sneak you into one of the buildings he’s supposed to clear out. he loves feeling like he has to save you, feeling like you need him (and seeing you a little afraid turns him on but he’ll never tell you that)

-he doesn’t talk much but if he notices you like something he does he’ll slow down and hum “hm?” to tease you. the most vocal he ever gets is grunting occasionally/giving you short commands (“like that,” “more,” or “good”) /muttering curses under his breath 

-he focuses on and is obsessed with the noises you make. he’ll overstimulate you to the point where it’s painful just to keep you making sounds he likes (any time he does something he can tell that you like he thinks more is better)

-if you want to have a romantic relationship with her you’re going to have to work for it. even if she likes you she’s hesitant to make the first move or pursue your affection in any way, she sees love as distracting and trivial so she doesn’t put much effort into it and tries her best to deny any romantic interest she feels. however, if she realizes that you like her too, she’ll start to change her mind and pay much closer attention to you, desperately trying to figure out if she has a chance with you whilst also being afraid of embarrassing herself 

-she’s quiet enough that she’s never going to make it obvious that she’s into you but there are little things she does that let you know she likes you. she’ll linger around you more than anyone else and she’ll check on you constantly whether or not you’re a part of the fans. she tries to be subtle to get you to confess first because she’s afraid that she’s just reading too much into your gestures and you don’t actually like her. she’ll be tense around you until you blatantly tell her that you have feelings for her

-she rarely ever uses pet names, the best you’re going to get out of her is an occasional “babe” or “baby” (especially if you’re upset)

-she’s not exactly experienced when it comes to relationships so she’s not a great flirt. part of her thinks it’s stupid and corny but she also loves making you blush and avoid eye contact with her so she tries her best anyways

-it’s hard for her to let herself be vulnerable so a lot of the time she comes off as being cold. it takes her a while to get used to having someone that she can be soft around without it being a point of weakness

-once you’re in a romantic relationship she becomes somewhat codependent/clingy. her tendency to constantly be glued to her brother sort of switches over to you but she’s quite shy about it so she tries to keep her distance

-you absolutely have to initiate your first kiss with her. she acts like she doesn’t care about it that much but in reality she’s far too nervous to do it at the wrong time. no matter when you choose to do it she’s going to turn bright red and go quiet, it makes her realize just how much she likes you 

-she’s quite protective and just sort of silently lingers behind you a lot of the time, scaring away most people who try to talk to you (and she likes it that way)

-since she’s not into pda her way of showing that she loves you around other people is staying somewhat close to you and looking for anyone that could possibly be a threat to your safety 

-she tries her best to be with you at night so you’re not awake worrying about her, but sometimes that’s not possible given her criminal escapades. whenever she does sleep next to you she likes to have your hands laced together, it’s not too much physical contact but still lets her know you’re there

-she’s very paranoid about losing you. she’s well aware that someone could find you and hurt you or she could die herself due to her involvement with the fans. she’ll make time to spend with you before going out to commit whatever crime so that if she does get killed she has memories of you still fresh in her mind

-if you’re not a part of the fans she tries her best to protect you from the crimes she commits, which is hard for her because she loves telling stories about how strong she is, it makes her feel like she’s proving that she’s capable of protecting you

-she’s not an arguer at all. if you’re ever upset with her, she'll just listen to what you have to say and try her best to change for the better. once she realizes how much you mean to her she does everything she can to keep you from ever leaving her.

-she doesn’t really like taking you on dates in public, she’d rather be alone with you somewhere that she can focus on giving you attention rather than looking over her shoulder

-even if you have a stable relationship for a while she’s hesitant to consider marriage. as much as she’d love to marry you, she’s hesitant to get too attached to you given that she could die any day or could get you killed by associating with her. if she ever did marry you it would be unofficial, she’d rather stay out of government records given the kind of life she lives 

He’s impressed by how long you’ve been holding a grudge for, it’s been hours since you angrily trudged out of the apartment. In a numb daze, Jacket stares at the reflection of his dead eyes in the glass coffee table in front of him, his mind wandering as he does. Part of his spaced-out brain dwells on how he’s been treating you, he's never seen you upset like this before. Losing you again is a thought that he doesn’t want to face, he doesn’t want to acknowledge how much it would hurt him. He’s angry with you, yet he still can’t bring himself to leave you. Looking out the window at the blue-black sky, his heart twitches impatiently as he slowly begins to realize that something isn’t right. By the time the sun has been down for a couple of hours he’s usually summoned to some nondescript location for a “cleanup job,” a pattern he’s been used to for most of the summer. Not being in the same room as the answering machine that’s become his lifeline makes him even more antsy, he knows that he’s putting both of your lives at risk by doing so. His still wobbly knees force him to stand, it feels as if someone else is controlling his unsure movements. Even walking across your small living room leaves him disoriented. Before he can make it to the door, though, the phone on the other side of the room begins ringing. The sound evokes a visceral reaction within him and sweat begins to bead at the corners of his forehead. Fingers quivering, he reaches for the phone. Static-y feedback whispers in his ear before the person on the other end begins speaking.

“I want you to listen carefully.” The crackly voice demands before pausing, waiting for a response that doesn’t come. “If you want your girl back, you’ll be at southeast 122nd street in the next hour.”

Jacket’s grip on the phone tightens, knuckles turning white as his body responds to the rage he feels. The only thing on his mind is saving you, getting you back in his arms, he knows that the safest place for you to be is by his side. Despite all of the shit that's happened, he does still love you, at least he thinks he does. After a few tensely silent moments pass, he hangs up. His steps toward the door are swift as his body vibrates with anger and anxiety. The humid air outside feels suffocating, unbreathable, and he’s panting by the time he makes it to his car. The silver butterfly door dramatically swings open, he's so disoriented that it nearly hits him in the face. Blood stains cover the once flawless interior, a sight that makes his eyebrows furrow. Everything he encounters seems to be an unrelenting reminder of the mess he’s gotten himself into. Without taking the time to light a cigarette as he usually would, he speeds off, longing to make it to you while he still can.

After what feels like seconds he’s at the address he was given, the drive there being a blurry memory he’ll forget by the morning. It looks to be an unassuming apartment building, but he has an idea of what’s going on inside. He slips the mask sitting on the passenger seat over his head, the smell of plastic and gore makes his stomach tremble as he suppresses a gag. Standing outside of the door, he pauses, trying to steady his shaking hands before doing what he knows has to be done. – You regain consciousness in a windowless room that reeks of gunpowder and money, a white-hot ache radiates across your head as you slowly open your eyes. The last thing you remember is being slammed against a brick wall in an alleyway, your memories following are unclear visions of men forcing you into a car and hauling your body inside the room you’re sitting in. Thick rope is tied tightly around your wrists, digging into your skin and making it ache. Between the injuries you’ve sustained from being abducted and the ever-present bruises on your face, you can’t bring yourself to move, even the thought of doing so makes you wince.

The only thing your bleary eyes can focus on is a man across the room speaking in a hushed voice on a clunky portable phone. It sounds like he’s giving someone orders, something reminiscent of what you’d hear on Jacket’s answering machine. A dicey plan enters your still fuzzy mind. Knowing that it may cost you your life, you begin screaming for help, hoping that whoever is on the other end of the phone hears you and cares enough to try and save you. You can vaguely hear the man hurriedly wrap up his demands over your cries. He then approaches you, kicking you with the tip of his boot and demanding that you shut up, not that you can hear him over the ringing in your ears. Pain washes over your abdomen, taking your breath away and making you immediately regret not staying silent. Hearing the commotion, another man enters the room, slamming the door behind him. He saunters closer, preventing you from being beaten any further. Your pulse thuds in your stomach, the pain and the perilousness of your situation overwhelm your body.

“If you kill her, then we don’t have the upper hand anymore…remember that.” He says in an authoritative tone to the man who was hurting you, holding him by the shoulder as he speaks.

You stare forward, vision cloudy from the tears flooding into your eyes. You know that all you can do is try to stay alive and wait. – The phone rings, interrupting the dreary silence that’s filled his apartment ever since you left. He sluggishly wanders over to answer. It's the same thing as usual, a voice beckoning him to some random address to take care of some vague business. Whilst tuning out most of the call as he usually does, he notices something in the background, the sound of someone screaming for help, you screaming for help. His heart begins thudding wildly. In an instant he throws the phone down and grabs his helmet, desperate to make his way to you.

He drives as fast as he possibly can, haphazardly weaving between cars and completely disregarding the speed limit. His tires screech as he pulls off of the road and into the parking lot for the phone company. Tremors plague his limbs while he anxiously hopes what he has planned will work. He grips his knife tightly in his already sweating hands, preemptively discouraging anyone from interacting with him. The moment he steps inside people begin cowering in corners and raising their hands in surrender, he’d be laughing if his heart wasn’t threatening to beat through his ribs. He asks one of the trembling figures where their boss is, and their shaky finger points to an elevator towards the back of the room. A barely audible murmur of “thanks” makes its way out of his mouth before he hurries to make his way to the second floor. The brief ride in the elevator feels like it goes on for hours, he impatiently taps the cleaver in his hand against his leg as anxiety wells up inside of him. As soon as the doors begin to open he strides down the hallway, bursting into the first room he spots. A man sitting behind a large desk freezes the moment he lays eyes upon him, scurrying out of his chair and telling him to take whatever he wants as long as he doesn’t kill him.

Another pulse of adrenaline courses through him as he realizes that the easy part of his plan is over. He immediately makes his way over to the massive computer sitting across the room. Hands vibrating, he attempts to hack into the phone records, hoping that he can be the one to save you. – After slaughtering another buildingful of people, Jacket lingers on the top floor, attempting to catch his breath. A tense silence hangs in the air, it’s quiet enough for him to hear his blood rushing in his ears. The piercing sound of the phone ringing from across the room pulls him from his daze. Out of instinct, he answers.

“Where the fuck is she?” He demands immediately, voice ragged.

The person on the other end disregards his anger-filled plea, simply informing him that he needs to go to another location and take care of a “prank caller” as soon as possible. After the line goes dead, he shoots the answering machine using the pistol in his hand, a futile attempt to settle the burning rage sitting in his chest.

The parking lot at the phone company is empty, save for a red bike parked right outside the door. He can only assume it belongs to whoever he’s been sent to eliminate.

The lobby of the building is equally deserted. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead and the gentle hum of an air conditioner fills the air. He lifts the stuffy plastic mask over his head, briefly taking in the way the cold air melts against the blood-tainted sweat covering his face.

With the first floor being devoid of any signs of life, he makes his way over to the elevator he spots in the corner. The mirrored walls inside present him with the reflection of a man he doesn’t recognize. Horrific dark circles, cuts and bruises peppered across his face, dilated pupils like tiny black pebbles laying within his eyes. He simply pulls his mask back over his head, not caring enough to be concerned about the state he’s in. Metallic creaking from the doors sliding open breaks the brief silence. He’s greeted by a dim hallway, the only light emanating from a set of open doors in the distance. Slowly striding down the hall, he looks over his shoulder every few steps, cautiously making his way to the glowing room. Glancing around the corner of the doorway to avoid being seen, he notices a figure he unfortunately recognizes inside. His tired heart begins pounding once again, he knows what this confrontation is going to come down to. Attempting to steady himself, he walks inside, trying not to show the weakness that’s consuming him.

“Get out of here if you don’t want to die” He hears shouted from across the room, slightly muffled.

Unrelenting, he continues walking, knowing that he has to be the one to make it out of this room alive. As quietly as he can, he grabs the wedge club out of a golf bag he spots laying on the floor, knowing that he doesn’t have the strength to make it through this fight relying on his fists and his rage. – He glances over his shoulder, surprised by the lack of footsteps scurrying out of the room. Though his vision is hindered by the tint of his helmet, he instantly recognizes the letterman jacket draped over the shoulders of the man looming behind him. His breath hitches, his blood running hot at the opportunity to get revenge, to hurt the man who hurt you. After turning around to face him slowly, his hand fumbles for the knife tucked in the back of his jeans. Eyes drifting over Jacket’s figure, he notices the golf club wrapped in his strong grip. He silently prays that his strength is diminished enough to make the unconventional weapon useless in his hands.

He saunters towards him, not wanting to delay their fight any longer. Attempting to catch Jacket off guard, he lunges at his side, actually managing to clip his abdomen with his cleaver. For a moment, he lurches over, but he’s almost instantly able to dodge the throwing knives sent flying at his head. – “Shit,” he hears the muffled exclamation leave the other man.

While he busies himself with prying his knives out of the nearby wall, Jacket brushes his hand over the fresh gash on his stomach, feeling the dampness of the blood leaking out of him through his shirt. Completely disregarding the injury, he hurries over to the other man. He swings the golf club as his midsection as hard as he possibly can, knocking him into the corner. Before he has a chance to retaliate, Jacket quickly makes his way back across the room. Knives in hand again, he gets back on his feet, staring at Jacket and contemplating his next move. His broad shoulders heave as he attempts to catch his breath.

After a moment, he cautiously makes his way towards Jacket again, fingers wrapped tightly around his cleaver. He swings at his abdomen once again, to which he smoothly steps backwards and avoids being grazed by the blade. Jacket grabs the other man’s arm before he can move away, taking hold of it with his empty hand. Despite his injuries, he’s surprisingly strong. He’s able to knee the other man in the chest, causing him to double over in pain. While he's down, Jacket yanks his helmet from his head and kicks him in the chest once again, knocking him flat against the ground. He rests his foot against his chest, preventing him from escaping before he can even consider doing so.

With one swift swing of the golf club, Jacket knocks him out, the metal wedge producing an audible thud as it comes into contact with his skull. Staring down at the body below him, he watches the blood gush out of the fresh gash on the man’s cheek. His uneven breathing finally begins to slow, he can’t help but feel content knowing he’s removed another threat to your safety.

-if you want to get anywhere with this man you’ll need to become a frequent club-goer, it’s really the only place you ever see him (and he likes it that way). he’ll make sure he keeps going to the same club to up his chances of running into you but the “what if?” is super thrilling to him

-when you first notice him he can tell right away. any time you look in his direction you’ll end up making eye contact with him. he loves the excitement of flirting with you from a distance so he’ll draw it out for as long as possible, suggestively glancing at you whenever he gets the chance until one of you decides to approach the other

-from the time you first meet he’s calling you pet names. baby, sugar, and doll leave his lips more than your real name ever will

-he’ll buy you drinks and dance with you whenever you ask, he’s painfully flirtatious and loves making you blush

-it takes him a while to warm up to you. part of him is overly cautious because you could be planning to kill him while part of him is scared to involve your pretty self in the dangerous games he plays

-the first time he kisses you is when he drops you off at home after a night out. at first he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing, but he goes with it when he notices you’re leaning in too. for how reckless he can be, he kisses you really gently. he tries to maintain his somewhat cocky facade but his heart is beating out of his chest and he can barely form a coherent sentence, it’s one of the few times you’ll see him flustered

-once he does start to entertain the idea of being with you, he’s fiercely protective and gets jealous quite easily, which is odd given the fact that he’ll flirt with anyone who’s willing to give him the time of day…but the second anyone glances at you twice he has his hands all over you or is kissing you sloppily to show them who you’re with. he doesn’t care how flustered you get, he’s wants to show off the fact that you belong to him 

-he’s pretty possessive and jealous but has enough confidence and feels secure in your relationship so he’s not toxic about it. if he catches you looking at someone for whatever he deems to be too long he’ll just grab your face and turn your gaze towards him while muttering “careful, sweetheart” 

-he’s obsessed with touching you and pda, this man literally cannot keep his hands off of you. he adores feeling the warmth of your skin under his hands and showing everyone that you’re his. any time you’re together he’ll have his arm slung around your waist or his hand gripping your hip

-he’s a romantic through and through, he takes you for rides on the back of his motorcycle at sunset all the time and loves the feeling of your arms tightening around his waist as he drives dangerously fast 

-he doesn’t sleep a lot given the “work” that he does. most nights he’s crawling into bed next to you just before the sun comes up, reeking of blood and holding onto you tightly, trying to forget the horrible things he’s just seen.

-any night that he’s not busy slaughtering buildingfuls of people he’ll hold you for hours. he tries not to think about it, but he really is afraid that there might be a night where he doesn’t come home to you so he tries his best to make the most of the time he gets to spend with you

-if you ever offer to/start taking care of his injuries after he comes home he melts. he’s used to haphazardly bandaging his bleeding hands so he becomes a blushing mess when you do it so tenderly and kiss his knuckles afterwards

-unfortunately he will fight with you about anything and everything, he lives for drama and conflict (that's essentially what his life revolves around). he’s not exactly used to stability so it’s not something that he recognizes as a possibility in his life. your fights never really get out of hand, but he’ll blow petty things out of proportion. afterwards he tries to win your forgiveness by being overly affectionate, after a couple hours he’ll snake his arms around you from behind and start kissing your neck, whispering sultry apologies for being such an asshole 

-any time he takes you on a date it’s to a club or a bar, he’s too sleazy for anything fancy. anywhere that’s going to kick you out the second he has his hands all over you is a no for him

-terrible when it comes to maintaining a long term relationship. the second the word marriage or something similar leaves your mouth he’s sweating and doing anything he can to avoid the topic. he makes the excuse that he doesn’t want you to end up getting hurt for associating with him but he really just has major commitment issues

The shallow rise and fall of Jacket’s chest occupies your gaze for hours, his rattley breaths being the only thing you can bring yourself to care about. Every time his hand twitches in yours, your heart flutters, a small glimmer of hope that he’ll wake up shines like a beacon through your blood-soaked thoughts. Eventually, your heavy eyelids slip closed, your exhaustion finally getting the best of you. Half conscious, your main focus becomes his heartbeat, its constant steady thumping against your ear brings you a small bit of comfort. 

Soon after falling into a light sleep, you hear commotion outside. As much as you don’t want to leave your boyfriend’s side, you feel compelled to see what the source of the noise coming from the hallway is. Shakily, your legs meet the floor, still keeping one of your hands on Jacket’s body as if your touch is the only thing keeping him alive. Leaning close to him, your lips meet his clammy forehead before you shuffle out into the hallway. 

It sounds as if someone is tapping against your door, barely making an attempt to knock but obviously waiting for you to notice and answer. Looking through the peephole, your eyes are met with a familiar head of teal hair. You open the door slowly, somewhat anxious to speak to him after his argument with Jacket. A sly smile graces his face the moment he meets your dead-eyed gaze. 

“There’s my girl.” He purrs, his predatory gaze making his intentions obvious. 

With wide eyes you stare back at him, unable to even muster a greeting in response. 

“‘S your piece of shit boyfriend gone yet?” He pries as he pokes his head into the doorway as if he wants Jacket to hear what he’s saying. Words faintly slurring together as he speaks, it's obvious that he’s intoxicated. 

“No, but he’s…not doing well” Your tone is blunt, your exhaustion making it hard to hide how you feel.

He leans towards you, propping his muscular arm up against the doorway to get as close to you as he possibly can. The smell of liquor radiates off of his breath, you find it to be oddly comforting. It’s top shelf, you can tell, the polar opposite of the eight dollar bottles Jacket downs whenever he's in a bad mood. 

“It’s what he deserves for hurting you…hurting my baby” he mutters, his strong hand brushing gently against your bruised cheek. 

Your stomach jumps at the sound of him referring to you as his. Blood rushes to your face while guilt fills you over how special his words make you feel. As much as you don’t want to, you melt into the warmth of his touch. He grins slyly as he notices you leaning into his hand. 

Before he tries to get you to go home with him, you come to your senses and realize that you need to usher him away from your door. No matter how close you felt to him before, you know that you have bigger things to worry about. 

“You have to go…I’m sorry,” you whisper, peeling his hand off of your cheek. 

Your words seem to make him sober up instantly. He doesn’t respond, he simply backs away from you. The look on his face stays neutral, but his eyes show the disappointment he feels. His tone changes significantly, from sappy and love drunk back to the stoic demeanor he usually reserves for other people. 

“Alright just,” he trails off, eyes drifting away from yours as he tries to collect himself. “Come find me if you need me.”

With that, he walks away, heavy footsteps echoing through the desolate hall. You peek out the door, longing for the normalcy he could provide you with, pondering whether or not it's worth it to continue trying to fix your mess of a boyfriend. 

While crawling back into bed your mind races as the stress of the situation you’ve put yourself in starts to overwhelm you. Zoning out, your eyes remain unfocused on the wall in front of you. You come back to reality when you feel your bed shift, your gaze darting to the unconscious man laying next to you. 

His brows furrow before his eyes crack open, there's a confusing in his gaze that makes it obvious he's trying to remember what happened to him. Immediately, you make your way over to his side. One of your hands lays across his shoulder while the other grips his hand like both of your lives depend on it. 

“Are you alright?” You whisper shakily, as if your words could somehow kill him.

He blinks a few times, still coming back to reality after being unconscious for so long. 

“I’m fine,” he groans, obviously still in pain. He weakly squeezes your hand, trying to convince you that what he said is true. 

Immediately, he attempts to stand, his balance wavering as he does. The sensation of his hand leaving yours fills you with dread. It seems as though he’s desperate to avoid being alone with you. Your mouth opens, ready to tell him that he should rest, but you know he’s not going to listen. Without addressing you, he wanders out into the hallway, his steps still wobbly as he walks away from you. You try to think of what he could possibly be doing whilst still being barely awake. Is he leaving you? Does he despise being with you that much? You feel that he’ll never fully come back to you, that in his mind, your relationship is already over, 

The flash of the bathroom light illuminating the dark hallway catches your attention. Sitting perched on the edge of your bed, you stare blankly out into the hall, trying to decipher what he’s doing. You can see him bent over the sink, face pressed against the flimsy linoleum countertop. His drug use was no secret, of course, but it still bothered you to watch him do it at a time like this, a futile attempt to ease his pain. Quietly, you slip out of bed and tiptoe towards the golden light across the hall. Whether you're looking to stop him or just wanting to be close to him you’re unsure. Somehow, he notices your presence, and turns around to meet your prying eyes.

“What are you doing?” Your voice is barely audible, like a hushed spirit calling out from the corner of the room. 

“Nothing just…go back to bed baby.” He looks at you, pupils dilated like bullet holes within his eyes, not the same person you know. The softness in his tone is artificial, simply trying to get you to stop bothering him rather than actually comforting you.

You don’t know what to say to him. At this moment, you hate him. You hate the fact that he’s given up on trying to save himself. You hate that you can feel him slipping away from you, abandoning you.

After a second, his nose starts bleeding, as if it wasn’t already obvious what he was doing. Noticing the change in your face, he looks in the mirror, muttering “fuck” under his breath as he realizes you know exactly what he’s done. 

Watching him slowly die in front of you is unbearable, it’s as if his belief that you’re in love with someone else has completely unraveled his will to continue living. You’re desperate to save him, even if it's a futile cause.

“You’re killing yourself. You have to stop doing that.” The words force their way out of your mouth, a painful yet numb sensation burning in your stomach. 

Always a man of few words, he replies “just don’t worry about it” while brushing past you to leave the bathroom. It's obvious that his feelings don’t mirror yours.

You follow close behind him, desperate to get through to him. 

“Please. You’re going to die if you keep going like this…I don’t want to lose you.” Your voice trails off, you’re hesitant to be vulnerable around him anymore.

Finally, after you follow him to the living room like a lost pet, he responds. 

“Like you gave a shit that I was dying however many days ago. You didn’t give a fuck about me the second you were able to find someone else to replace me and you know it.” 

His words hurt you, terribly so. A look of regret briefly graces his face, both from the fact that he’s upset you even more and has acknowledged that he is, in fact, dying. 

You stare at him in disbelief, baffled that the man who supposedly loved you could be so cold. The anger you’ve harbored towards him comes crashing over you once again. Stomping back into your room, you huff to yourself as you refrain from continuing to argue with him. You tug a sweatshirt over your clothes and stuff your keys in the pocket. His scent still lingers on the garment, the memories of his affection make you sickly nostalgic. 

You storm through the living room again, he doesn’t even bother to say anything as he watches you move towards the door and prepare to leave. Giving him one last teary-eyed look, you hope that he’ll beg you to stay, but all you see is a hopeless man in front of you. You exit your apartment, hoping that some sort of change will transpire in the time that you’re gone. 

You find yourself aimlessly wandering the crowded streets of Miami, brushing past groups of people lingering in the neon smoke pouring out of the numerous clubs scattered throughout the city. Part of you finds the presence of other people comforting, while another part of you hates basking in your loneliness, the sight of functional couples being able to stand the sight of each other fills you with jealousy. Anger pours out of you with each step, the pleasant scent of the salty air allows you to finally begin to calm down. You get carried away, not paying attention to where you’re going as the sun crawls down the last bit of distance above the horizon. Eventually, you find yourself on streets with fewer people, loud conversations slowly turning to hushed murmurs with each step you take. 

By the time you begin to consider turning around and going back the way you came, a strong hand snatches you off of the sidewalk and drags you into a dark alleyway. Pain radiates across your back as you’re slammed against the brick wall. Within an instant, a knife is pressed against your neck, promptly buying your silence. 

Your widened eyes stare forward, scanning the features of the man in front of you. Blue eyes meet your gaze, glaring at you maliciously as his grip on you tightens. He looks back at another man standing close behind him.

“That’s her,” he says sternly to the man still holding a knife to your neck. 

They exchange glances and hushed words that are too quiet for you to hear before turning their attention back to you.

“You’re coming with us.” 

You stand leaning against the sliding door in your living room, watching the palm trees outside blow in the wind as rain slams against the glass like bullets. A bright flash of lightning causes you to jump, sending chills through the seemingly eternal pit in your stomach. Eyes focused on the raindrops slithering down the glass, you completely zone out. 

An insistent and loud knock at the door rouses you. As you approach the entryway, your mind races, wondering who could be at your door at this time of night, especially during a storm. An indescribable feeling of panic mixed with relief fills you when you look through the peephole. You can’t open the door fast enough, baffled by who’s standing on the other side. A compulsion to collapse into his arms fills you, your longing for his touch completely overriding all of the burning resentment you felt towards him. However, your feet remain stationary, the weight of your emotions preventing you from moving. 

Your gaze remains fixed on the figure in front of you as if you’re still trying to figure out if you’re dreaming. His clothes are soaked, both from the rain and the blood covering him. He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him, debilitated, more ghosts visible in his already haunted eyes. You try to say something to him multiple times, but all you can muster are confused gasps and quiet stutters of the words that have been trapped within you ever since he left. Footsteps come up behind you, snapping you out of your daze. A feeling of unease comes over you as you imagine how this interaction could end, given Jacket’s possessive tendencies.  

“C’mon sugar what’s taking so long?” You hear called out from the hallway. 

You can see Jacket’s expression change, there's a fire in his eyes that you’ve only seen a few times before. Your stomach lurches as you realize what's about to happen.

He had tried to plan what to say to you when you opened the door, seemingly unable to find the right words to justify or explain his absence, the absence that had nearly killed him. The overwhelming rage that fills him when he sees the man from the polaroids he has hidden in his pocket walking up behind you demolishes any semblance of composure he had. 

“Who the fuck is that?” he mutters angrily, eyes darting from the teal-haired man to you. For your sake, he tries his best to hide the anger that’s consuming him, but it’s nearly impossible. He wants nothing more than to snatch you out of this random man’s arms and make sure no one ever puts their hands on you again. 

Before you can answer, the other man chimes in. “Woah woah, you’re not gonna talk to her like that, especially after disappearing for god knows how fuckin’ long.”

“Let me handle this,” your now weak voice interrupts, not taking your eyes off of Jacket. 

Hesitantly, he walks away, although the fear written on your face tells him not to. Trying to avoid Jacket’s eyes, you keep your head down, instead focusing on the trail of bloody footprints leading up to your door.

After a long pause, you speak up, mumbling “We’re just friends.”  You hope that it’s enough to calm him down, but part of you knows he’s far too angry for it to work. 

“Then what the fuck is this?” Jacket replies, pulling the pictures of you at the club the other night out of his pocket. “And why the fuck is he talking to you like that,” he continues, glaring daggers at you with his bloodshot eyes. 

Your heart sinks and your eyes widen. You have no clue how he got those pictures and now you’re sure you can’t talk your way out of trouble. Your heart thuds rapidly as you begin to panic knowing that there’s no way for you to avoid arguing with him. 

Attempting to justify what you did, you open your mouth again. “Am I not allowed to go out with my friends, especially when my boyfriend has been missing for weeks?” You argue, trying to keep your voice down. 

“Since when do your friends touch you like that? Hell, since when do I touch you like that when we go out?” Even though his behavior is hostile, it's obvious that he’s hurt by what you’ve done, no matter how much he tries to avoid showing his feelings. 

You stare back at him, at a loss for words. You’re unsure of how to handle this, you really thought he was never coming back. Your thoughts are interrupted when you notice Jacket taking a few steps towards you. He leans against the door frame, covertly trying to steady his weak legs. His figure looms over you, his presence feels intimidating rather than comforting. 

“You know if I was there I would’ve killed him, right?” He says. The words send shivers down your spine. It’s a terrifying thought, but you know damn well that he’s not lying. 

“I only did this because I heard you left with some other girl,” you blurt out, hoping that he can understand the reasoning behind your actions.  

“Oh so just because you ‘hear something’ you went out and fucked around with some other guy?” His voice becomes louder, drawing unwanted attention. The commotion causes the teal-haired man to step back in, placing a protective hand on your back as he does.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off of my girl,” Jacket yells, shoving him away from you. 

You flinch, although you're glad all he did was push him. 

“Oh so now she's your girl again? Pick a side, asshole.” The argument continues. 

The raised volume of their voices yelling over each other makes it hard for you to decipher what they’re saying, but you can tell that it's not going to end well. Standing next to them, you attempt to break up the argument multiple times, trying to yell over them and physically pull them away from each other, to no avail.

Their argument only gets louder. You step in between them, your last attempt at shutting them up. In an instant, you’re knocked sideways, a fist slamming into the side of your head. Your vision wavers and you lose your balance from the unexpected force. As you stumble sideways, a set of arms catches you and your hands come up to cradle your already bruising cheek. Through the blurs of reality you’re able to keep your eyes open for, you notice the terrified look on Jacket’s face and his shaking hands. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You hear shouted from behind you.

Head spinning, you stumble over to the couch, the dizzying pain keeping you from walking straight. The pain pulsing all over your face makes it difficult to open your now teary eyes, so you sit with your head in your hands and listen to the commotion that has become completely unintelligible. They continue to argue for a few moments before you feel the warmth of someone sitting at your side. 

A pair of rough hands gently pulls your fingers away from your face and you hear Jacket’s voice whisper “Shit, that’s a lot of blood.” He begins to gently put pressure on the wound before turning around to continue yelling across the room. 

Cracking your eyes open, you gaze at the man in front of you, then down at your hand. Crimson liquid trails down your palm from where you’ve been holding your face. 

“Can you just get out?” Jacket yells at the other man as he pulls you close protectively. 

“I’ll leave once I know you’re not going to hurt her again.” The distant voice across the room replies before directing his attention towards you and saying “If he puts his hands on you again I’ll fucking kill him.” 

Your entire body shakes, overwhelmed by the hostility in the air and the pain you're in. 

“Get out.” Jacket demands again through clenched teeth.

The slam of the door shakes your apartment and makes you jump. 

You force your eyes open once again to see Jacket is still beside you, resting his hand on top of yours, seemingly out of habit. 

“Are you ok?” He mutters while grasping your chin, turning your head slightly to see the damage his fist caused. His touch is unfamiliar, clinical, as if he just met you. 

“Yeah just…fuck, it hurts.” You hiss under your breath as his fingers brush over the epicenter of the bruise. 

Afraid to hurt you again, he withdraws his hands, keeping himself a short distance from you, a physical representation of the tension between the two of you. A palpable unease fills the air, the anger he feels towards you is made painfully obvious by his stiff body language and unwillingness to show affection. A few minutes pass, neither of you making an effort to reconcile your relationship. You can’t stand the thought of sitting in silence alone with him, so you force yourself off of the couch, quietly excusing yourself to the bathroom to examine the wound on your face. 

The tile floor of the bathroom feels unusually icy on your feet and the hum of the dim vanity lights rings in your ears. You gaze at your face in the mirror, eyes still foggy from the tears. Dark bruising covers your cheek and fades like a sunset over your eye, a small slit in your skin accompanying it. It looks a lot worse than you expected. You splash water on your face in an attempt to rinse the blood away, whimpering from the pain of your fingers coming into contact with your skin. 

You return to the living room to find Jacket standing on the balcony, a now unfamiliar sight. You decide to join him outside, a longing for his presence still fills your chest. He pays no attention to you joining him, simply staring out at the city lights and taking a drag off of the cigarette in his hand. Instead of looking over at him awkwardly and waiting for him to say something, you occupy yourself by gazing up at the pale crescent moon. After a moment, he speaks up. 

“You wanna explain yourself?” He starts, cigarette smoke flowing out of his mouth as he speaks. 

You knew that this would happen eventually, that the tension between the two of you would come to a breaking point, but it doesn’t make the confrontation any easier. “How about you tell me where the hell you’ve been first?” You reply quietly, a hint of desperation seeping out through your voice. 

He pauses as if he’s trying to decide whether or not he wants to answer you. “It was just a job that didn’t go as planned,” he says. 

“So you decided you’d just disappear?” You huff, trying not to lose your temper. 

“And you decided you’d fuck someone else?” He replies angrily, obviously trying to avoid fully explaining his disappearance. 

“I told you we’re just friends.” You argue.

“Yeah, that’s pretty obvious.” He says sarcastically. 

You sigh heavily, trying not to let your anger get in the way of your love and concern for the man in front of you.

 “I was devastated. I called you every day hoping to hear back from you, I stood outside your apartment and waited, praying that you hadn’t left me.” You confess, hoping that he believes you. 

“You don’t have to lie to me.” He replies, somewhat exasperated and with a hint of sadness in his voice. 

“I love you..I never stopped loving you.” Your voice is barely audible as you speak. 

He remains silent, although his face softens noticeably. Gazing at him longingly, you continue searching for any signs of warmth in his body language. 

As you look over at him, you notice the way his wrist is hanging limply over the railing of the balcony. Silently, you approach him, gently taking his hand in yours. He curses under his breath when your fingers meet his wrist, pulling his arm from your grip. 

Taking his uninjured wrist in your hand, you lead him back inside, muttering “come on” under your breath as you do. 

You usher him into the bathroom, motioning for him to take off his jacket so you can see the extent of the damage he’s done to his arm. His fingers are limp, broken blood vessels vine all the way up his wrist with thick rivers of red and purple bruising blooming across his skin. 

Gently, you examine the injury on his arm, a low grunt leaving his mouth as you do. He shifts uncomfortably every time your fingers meet his forearm. You rifle through the medicine cabinet, taking out whatever inadequate medical supplies you have. Sitting on the bathroom counter, you take his wrist in your hands. 

“Hold on” he says, pulling away. He grabs his injured wrist with his other hand and attempts to set it back into place with a sickening crack. “I think it's broken,” he mutters nonchalantly, somehow unphased by the pain he’s in. 

“You really should go to a hospital.” you beg, despite knowing he's not going to.

 His eyes meet yours as if he knows you know what he's going to say. You take his arm again, wrapping bandages as tightly as you can until all of the bruising is covered. Wordlessly, he watches you work, eyes focused on your careful fingers as if he’s witnessing something holy. 

He gazes down at his hand, moving his fingers slightly more than he could before. You watch his face as he does, trying to make out any emotion in his eyes. Everything he does seems cold. His words, his actions, the way he looks at you, nothing seems to carry the same affection as it did before his disappearance. 

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice his hand coming up to cradle your face, his thumb running gently over the bruise on your cheek. A blush covers your face, his touch feels foreign now, like something out of a dream. Unable to make eye contact with him, your eyes drift to his torso, noticing the various bloodstains covering his body. 

“What happened?” You mutter, pulling on his shirt. 

“...It's nothing.” He replies, unconvincingly. 

To prove your point, you gently kick him in the side, to which he grits his teeth and backs away from you. You hop off of the counter and lean towards him, hesitantly lifting his shirt. Barely healed gashes and bruises cover the already scarred skin of his stomach. Your eyes widen. It was obvious to you that he was hurt, but he looks much worse than you initially thought, you’re surprised he’s even alive. 

“Tell me what happened.” You say again, sternly. 

He avoids your eyes, apprehensive and somewhat embarrassed to explain himself to you. “I was held hostage, for however fucking long…they beat the hell out of me, but all I could think about was you.” He pauses briefly, either trying to gather his thoughts or keep his emotions under control. “They showed me pictures of you and that guy and I could barely control myself. I knew I had to get out. I didn’t give a shit if it killed me, I would’ve died knowing I tried my best to make it back to you.” His eyes meet yours as if he’s searching for approval, hoping that his admission is enough for you. 

All of your pent up emotions flood into your chest at once, and you break down into tears in front of him. He’s finally with you again, yet you’re still so close to losing him. Nervously, you move closer to him, grasping onto him as if he’s the only thing keeping you alive. 

“I’m sorry,” you sob into his chest. 

His hesitation is noticeable as he slowly wraps his arms around your shaking figure. His strong hands find their way to where they’re meant to be, muscle memory overriding his reluctance to show you that he does still love you. You return his gesture, looping your arms around his torso carefully, trying to avoid hurting him further. 

You remain in his arms for what feels like an eternity, reveling in the familiar warmth of his touch that you’ve missed for so long. He becomes noticeably less angry, his arms wrapping around you tightly as he holds you close to his chest. 

Eventually, you notice his hands starting to go limp, his fingers barely able to hold onto you. He pulls away, eyes barely open, attempting to steady himself against the wall unsuccessfully.

Sleeping in the Tsaritsa’s palace in the middle of the frigid Snezhnayan winter is a challenge for you. The nearly constant snowfall and freezing temperatures confine you to your room most days, leaving you restless as you watch the harbingers travel and work. Luckily, you have a vacant castle to wander every night in order to tire yourself out. 

You stroll down one of the many dim hallways, trying to ease yourself to sleep. The marble floor is cold against your bare feet and you shiver slightly, your thin nightgown not doing much to keep you warm. The wing where the harbingers sleep is desolate at this hour, most of them in bed or away for work. You stop in your tracks when you notice the door to Capitano’s room hanging open. You peek inside from the doorway, hoping to see him. 

The walls are barely illuminated by the pale crescent moon that hangs in the freezing night sky. A moment passes before your eyes can make out his massive silhouette across the room. The large palladian window on the far wall is open, the wintry breeze flowing inside blows through his silky black hair. He turns his head, sighing visibly as a cloud of his warm breath crawls out into the light. He then shrugs his cumbersome cape off of his shoulders, gently tossing it on the chair beside him. You continue to gaze at him wordlessly, admiring the way the moonlight shines down onto him. You’re so hypnotized by his ethereal presence that it takes you a while to notice that the clunky metal helmet that usually rests on his head is missing. Neither of you have ever mentioned the fact that he keeps his face covered, you assumed it to be part of being a harbinger. Now that you’ve been together for a few months, you figure that knowing his identity won't be a problem, and you proceed into the room to join him. 

“Thrain?” You call out quietly, not wanting to startle him. 

Out of habit, he turns around to greet you. He immediately realizes the mistake he’s made, your eyes widen the moment you see his face. 

A significant portion of the flesh on his face is a sickly blue-black color, crawling up his neck to his forehead in a vein-like pattern. Various scars decorate the surface of his skin, lifelong marks of the battles he's endured. One of his eyes is a bright icy blue color, his gaze is piercing even in the dead of night. The marred appearance of his face surprises you, but it doesn’t frighten you. 

You stumble over your words briefly, unsure of how to assure him that you’re not afraid and that you didn’t mean to invade his privacy. 

“Go.” He demands, his voice barely above a whisper. He turns away in order to hide his face from you. 

You take a few steps closer, trying to show him that you’re not scared.

“You must leave, you cannot see me like this.” He insists, his voice becoming louder.

You’re close enough to touch him now. In an attempt to show him how you feel, you reach out and place your hand on his forearm, trying to comfort him. In an instant, his reflexes kick in and his large hand grips your wrist, hard. You yelp, tears filling your eyes from the pain of his iron grasp. He flinches and lets go the moment he realizes he’s hurt you. The fear in your eyes as you look up at him sends chills through his body. 

Scurrying out of his room, you cradle your wrist in your hand, hoping to ease the pain. No matter how hard you try, you can’t blink away your tears. You’re terrified that you’ve angered him, something that you’ve never done before. Your rapid footsteps cease once you make it to the room you’ve been staying in.

Throwing yourself on your bed, your tears begin to fall faster. You can’t help but feel hopeless, a pit in your stomach forming at the gut-wrenching thought that you’ve ruined your relationship with Capitano forever. Your eyes drift over to a picture sitting on the dresser across the room. A photo of you and Capitano rests inside an intricate silver frame, the only picture of you two you have. He’s gazing down at you, smiling underneath his helmet as his armored hand rests on your shoulder. You turn away, the sight of better times sends a pang of regret through your heart. 

After wallowing in your sadness for a bit, you exit your room, still unable to sleep. You tiptoe down the hallway, attempting to make your way to the small sitting area near your room that you frequent. Rounding the corner outside your door, you notice a shadow a few steps away. It’s Capitano, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his helmet resting on his head once again. He perks up when he realizes you’ve noticed him.

“My love…please” he mutters.

You stare at him in silence, hesitant to get close to him again. He reaches out towards you, an invitation you can’t reject. You place your hand in his, walking alongside him as he guides you to his room. 

Stiffly, you sit in one of the two chairs nestled in the corner. His body language as he sits across from you makes it obvious that he’s worried. 

“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he admits quietly.

“I wasn’t exactly scared, I just didn’t expect you to react like that,” you respond, gazing down at your lap as you fidget with your hands nervously. 

“I was not prepared for you to see the real me. But, now you have.” There’s a hint of regret in his tone, you can tell he wishes you had found out about this differently. 

“This doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love you, no matter what.”

“So my curse does not compel you to leave?” 

“No, of course not,” you answer. The thought of being apart from him is unfathomable for you, especially after having to wait so long to express your feelings for him.  

“You really are the sweetest thing in this world, my angel.” He says, motioning for you to come close. 

You fall into his embrace, your heart fluttering at the feeling of being in his arms once again. His hands seem to fit against you perfectly. Something about the way he holds you tells you that he'll do anything to protect you, that you two are fated to be together, it's a feeling you can’t fathom losing. 

You pull away, still resting your hands on his arms.

“Thrain, take off your helmet, show me the real you,” you say lovingly. 

With hesitant hands, he reaches for his helmet, lifting it off of his head and tucking it under his arm. You look at him warmly, finally being able to look into your lover’s eyes fills you with indescribable happiness. He then rolls up his sleeves, showing you that his curse isn’t confined to just his face. You take his massive hand in yours, softly tracing the decay that vines up his arm with your fingers. He watches you silently, baffled that you can be enthralled by something that he finds so horrible. You bring your hand to his face, finally able to admire him properly after so long. 

“Let me see your arm,” he says, a concerned look adorning his face as he recalls that he hurt you earlier.

Shakily, you roll up your sleeve and hold your hand out in front of him. His fingers quiver as he carefully cradles your forearm in his hands, appalled by the large bruise his grip left on you. 

“Forgive me,” he mutters, gazing up at you.  

“I know you didn’t mean to do it, strength such as yours is hard to control.” Your voice is soft as you try to comfort him.

“I swear to you that I will use my strength to protect you until the end of our days,” he professes, kissing the back of your hand. 

He turns to look out the window, realizing that the sun will begin to rise soon and you haven’t slept the whole night. 

“You should get some rest, my love,” he says. 

As you walk towards the door to return to your room, you feel Capitano’s hand meet your shoulder. You turn to face him, finally able to look into his hypnotic eyes as he speaks to you. 

“Please stay,” he mutters, obviously a bit shy. “Now that you’ve seen the real me, allow me to hold and protect you while you sleep by my side.” 

Without hesitation, you oblige, and you turn around to make your way to his bed. However, before you can begin walking, he effortlessly lifts you up, cradling you in his arms as he carries you across the room. Gently, he lays you down, pulling the soft blankets over you. He lays next to you, taking your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours slowly as if he’s fascinated by your presence in his bed. He recoils when he notices your skin is as cold as ice. 

“Archons, you’re freezing,” he says, pulling you close. 

He wraps his strong arms around you, the warmth of his protective embrace is what you imagine heaven feels like. You finally begin to relax, eyes fluttering shut as you slowly fall asleep in his arms. 

After falling asleep again, you wake up disoriented and shivering. Getting out of bed feels nearly impossible, last night’s alcohol is finally starting to kick your ass. You trudge across the room and grab a sweatshirt that's laying on the dresser, replacing the uncomfortable sensation of your current outfit with the soft, oversized garment. Walking out of his bedroom, you realize that you’re still alone.

His apartment is entirely different from what you’re used to. Sleek pink and black furniture adorns the living room and a large desk with a computer stands in the corner, a stark contrast from Jacket’s sparsely decorated room. Your dizziness starts to get the best of you, and you plop down on the black leather couch to avoid falling over. All you want is the comfort of another person, a feeling you’ve been trying to deny. 

A few tears cascade down your cheeks as you sink into the creaky leather cushions, pulling your knees to your chest. This has happened a few times before, the painful feeling of missing your lover only comes over you periodically, whenever you don’t have a way to numb your aching heart. The sound of the door makes you perk up, memories of waiting on the couch for your boyfriend to come home flood your mind. There's no use trying to pull yourself together, the redness in your eyes is painfully obvious. You watch as he stands in the doorway for a moment, removing his helmet and running his hand through his fluffy hair. Eventually, his eyes meet yours. When he notices you’ve been crying, he rushes over to sit down beside you. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly, placing his warm hand on your back.

You shake your head, tears falling faster than before.

“Is it him?” He asks, quieter. 

Shakily, you nod. He takes you in his arms, running his fingers over your hair. 

“Why do I miss him? He left me without saying anything.” You mutter, feeling ashamed to admit how you feel. 

A sigh leaves him as if he’s just as upset as you are. “It's understandable, you two were together for a while.”

Crying over the man who abandoned you feels ridiculous, your hands wipe the tears away as soon as they fall. A feeling of panic boils up inside of you as memories of your boyfriend coming home in the middle of the night covered in blood and shaking flash through your mind. 

“But what if he's not safe? I should call him just to see.” You breathe, forcing yourself up and off of the couch. 

Heavy hands find their way to your shoulders, ushering you to sit back down. “No, you’re not gonna call him,” he says, staring into your eyes. “You’re not going to go crawling back to him. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.” 

Your eyes meet his, you can tell from the way he looks at you that he cares about you, you’re not another one of his one-night-stands that he dumps without thinking twice. 

“Alright, fine,” you agree, somewhat hesitantly. 

He grins at you, pulling you close. “No more crying, ok doll? You’re mine now,” he says close to your ear, his flirtatious tone from the night before returning.  

–

The ropes are almost loose enough for him to entirely slip his hands out of the restraints. It had been nearly impossible with how weak he is, but the blood coating his wrists helped. The rapid pounding of his heart rings in his ears. He can’t determine whether it's from nerves or blood loss, not that he cares. This was his one chance to escape and he knew he couldn’t fuck it up, he had to get out and make it back to you. He’s willing to risk his life if it means getting to see you again. That is, if you even wanted to see him after all of this, the memory of the photos of you and your “friend” reminds him that you’ve probably already moved on. 

A sickeningly loud popping sound comes from his wrist as a result of his struggle with the thick ropes restraining him. He’s able to pull his now limp hand out, the other one swiftly following. Whatever he's done to his wrist has severely limited his movement, another hurdle in his plan to escape. He takes a shivery breath, knowing that he only has one shot to do this. Quietly, he dashes across the room, his back to the wall right next to the door with the chair he was tied to in his hands. His fist bangs against the door, shaking it in its frame. Footsteps immediately begin rushing towards the room. Hearing the men on the other side of the door makes his vision blur, everything seems to move in slow motion as his adrenaline kicks in. With a deep breath, he slams the chair over the head of the first man through the door, knocking him on the ground. A jagged broken leg from the chair left in his hand meets the stomach of the next man in line. Warm blood gushes over his half-limp hand. Just as he expected, a handgun clatters to the ground as the man’s body does. Efficient and brutally graceful, he's as cold as the metal of the gun that now rests in his hand. 

Two shots fly through the next group of men as he finally exits the room he's been locked in. He presses forward, knees weak underneath him. The gun is only enough to clean up a few of the last men. Making do, the man who was unfortunate enough to bring a switchblade gets knocked sideways, receiving a skull-shaking uppercut underneath his chin. Using what he has, he takes the gun and slams it against the man’s head repeatedly with a passion that's almost inhuman. Blood and various other chunks of bodily matter now cover his jeans, making them more red than blue. After ruthlessly ending the life of the last man, the whole building goes silent. For the first time in a while he sees clearly, and he knows he needs to get out. Leaving the carnage behind, he stumbles out the door. 

The alleyway he finds himself in is dark, despite the orange-yellow light that still fills the sky. He staggers towards the sidewalk, searching for any sign of where he is. The VHS rental store he frequents is just down the road, something that helps him get his bearings in reality. Panic fills him as he realizes how far he is from your apartment. He’ll never make it there on foot, he's already barely alive. Running his hand over the interior of his jacket, he feels the bulge of his keys in his pocket. Knowing that he actually has a chance of making it home to you motivates him even more. He begins walking towards the last place he remembers being, his vision wavering with each step. 

– 

You’re on the back of his bike once again, flying down the highway to get to your apartment. The orange sun peeks out from between tall buildings, shining its light on you momentarily. A cool breeze blows through your hair wildly. You bury your face into the side of his neck, keeping your face out of the unseasonably chilly evening air. The sensation of his warmth against you feels so right that for a fleeting moment you forget who your heart supposedly still belongs to. 

He parks outside of your apartment building, holding onto your waist as you hop off of the bike. Taking him by the hand, you ask him to stay with you for a while, promising him that you can go out again and you’ll buy the drinks. The look in your eyes alone is enough to convince him, and he follows you up to your room with no hesitation. 

Once you make it back to your bedroom, you change out of his clothes and splash cool water on your face, hoping to banish the last bit of your hangover. Exiting your bedroom, you find him standing on your balcony smoking. You join him, of course, admiring how the golden light of the sunset shines down on him as his hair flows in the wind, like something out of a movie. You can tell that he’s gazing in your direction, but you’re too busy looking at the horizon to say anything. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says earnestly. 

You stumble over your words for a moment before staring at him in shock, your entire face turning bright red.

“I mean it,” he continues. “I don’t know how you ended up with the asshole you did.”

He puts his cigarette back in his mouth nonchalantly as if he hadn’t said anything. 

Just before you can respond, it begins to rain.

“Well, shit, so much for romance,” he mutters before leading you back inside. 

–

He's only a block away from his car when the rain starts to pour. The blood drenching him runs down his body even faster now, leaving light pink stains all over his clothes. Most of his walk is spent weaving through alleyways to avoid unwanted attention, especially from the law. 

He can see his car in the distance, still parked outside of the vacant building where he left it. The pace of his steps picks up significantly, he knows he's close to finally being free. Looking over his shoulder a final time to make sure no one has followed him, he unlocks his car and gets in. 

A heavy sigh racks through his body as soon as he sits in the driver’s seat. He stares down at his blood caked shoes, muttering curses under his breath when he notices they’re staining the floor. Slowly reaching into the cupholder, he pulls out his cigarettes and lights one, filling his weak lungs with grey smoke. The nicotine withdrawal he had been through was nothing compared to the withdrawal from you, spending weeks without your presence nearly killed him. The bright flashes of lightning that crawl across the clouds pull him out of his daze. The wind picks up, blowing rain forcefully against the windshield. He doesn’t have time to wait out the storm, so he puts his car in gear, cigarette still in hand. The route to your apartment is ingrained in his mind and he makes it there seamlessly, even without being able to see through the rain. 

The sounds of your footsteps echo loudly through the vacant hallway, making your anger obvious. Your urgent pace comes to a halt outside of your (soon to be ex) boyfriend’s apartment. This was becoming a routine, you storming up to his room and banging on his door, hurling insults at the man who may or may not be on the other side. 

It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve last seen him. The thought of that fuels your anger-sadness as the splintered wood fights back against your knuckles. When you feel your hand get sore from your insistent knocking and your throat goes dry from shouting his name, you begin digging through your bag for the key to his apartment, only to remember you lost it a few weeks ago. You begin stomping away, making sure to shout one last insult before making it too far down the dingy hallway. Descending the stairs to the first floor, you notice a man mopping and staring in your direction. From across the room, you attempt to get his attention, keeping your distance from his condescending gaze. 

“Hey,” you start, “have you seen a tall blond dude wearing a letterman jacket around here recently?” You’re pretty sure this attempt at finding your absent lover is futile, but what do you have to lose? 

“Yeah,” the man replies, peering at you from under the bill of his hat, “I saw him walking around with some chick the other week.” He immediately goes back to his work, returning his dead eyes to the suds covering the vinyl floor. 

Even more resentment and jealousy fills the pit in your stomach, and you huff a quick “thanks” in response. You don’t even care to ask for details before trudging out of the building and to your car. 

The drive back to your apartment is hellish. However, it gives you just enough time to plot your revenge. You pick up your phone as soon as you get to your room, falling onto your bed and kicking your legs in the air. Without hesitation, you dial an old friend’s number, unsure if it's still in service or not. You're relieved when you hear a familiar voice on the other end. 

When you greet him, he replies with “Hey, baby.” He's always been terribly flirtatious, exactly what you need. 

“Are you doing anything tonight?” You waste no time making your intentions clear in a sugary sweet tone. 

“I was gonna head out for a bit,” he replies, the smile on his lips audible. “Why, you wanna come?” He pries teasingly. 

You let him in on your situation and how heartbroken you feel, being sure to keep up your dramatic tone, as if he needed any convincing to take you out. 

Without hesitation he says “I’ll pick you up at eight, wear something I’ll like.” It's as if you can hear him winking at you through the phone. 

“See you then” you giggle before hanging up the phone.

You spend an hour in your closet finding an outfit that looks exceptionally flattering on you, something that you knew would make your “boyfriend” place a protective arm around your waist if he caught anyone else looking at you in it. 

By the time you make it to the lobby of your apartment building your date is already outside. He's standing next to his motorcycle in all of the glory that you remember. Muscular arms unhidden in a sleeveless neon pink vest, shaggy teal dyed hair, dreamy eyes, and an overly flirtatious, ridiculously handsy attitude. 

“Looking like that I wanna keep you all to myself” he purrs as you walk towards him. 

“Save it” you reply as you bat at his arm playfully, a blush overwhelming your face. He laughs cooly, climbing onto his bike. You slide on behind him, nervous to get too close. 

His hands brush the sides of your thighs as he grabs your hips and pulls you closer to him, smirking at you. “Come on, you’re gonna fall off,” he says, pulling you even closer by taking your hands and looping your arms around his waist. 

With that, he revs the bike’s engine loudly and pulls onto the street. As he drives, you notice that he's not wearing his usual teal helmet, and a bit of smudgy black makeup adorns his eyes. You weren’t exactly expecting him to try and impress you. Every time he stops at a red light, he turns to look at you, eyes glistening in the light of the sunset. One of his hands meets your waist, the leather of his fingerless glove is warm against your exposed skin. He winks at you before speeding off again, accelerating even faster than he did at the last stoplight. Butterflies fill your stomach at the sound of the engine and the sight of palm trees rapidly passing your vision. You were used to Jacket driving recklessly, but there was something new about this, something more exciting. He parks outside of a neon-lit building in a spot at the very front, it's obvious that he's a regular here. Dismounting the bike, your knees wobble, dizzy from how fast you were travelling. Luckily, his arm snakes around your waist, hand resting on your hip to keep you steady. 

“Let them stare,” he mutters close to your ear. At first you’re confused, until you turn towards the line into the club. Out of every few people, someone is looking at you, either staring in curiosity or glaring maliciously. 

Panicking, you turn to him, mouthing “What the fuck?” 

“I always come here alone. This is gonna make headlines, baby” he smiles as he immediately goes to the front of the line, walking inside nonchalantly. 

Despite the hand clamped around your waist, the bouncer still stops you, gripping your shoulder tightly. 

“Woah, c’mon, she’s with me” your date exclaims, yanking you out of the bouncer’s hold. Not waiting for permission, he continues pulling you inside. 

The ruthless stares don’t subside as you enter the club. Part of you begins to regret doing this and your mind wanders as you walk through the flashing lights. 

“Here sugar, I got you a drink.” His words bring you back to reality as you take the glass from his hand. It’s your favorite, somehow he remembered. Chemically top-shelf liquor burns the back of your throat as you down a large sip.  

“You really are heartbroken, aren’t you?” He coos, “Did pretty little blondie just up and leave?” 

You nod before elaborating, “Apparently with some other girl, too.” 

He scoffs loudly in response. “Fuck him, don’t even think about him tonight. You're way too pretty for him anyway.” He says, looking you up and down with a suggestive glint in his eyes. 

Secretly you hope that he’s nearby, seeing you with a different guy’s hands on your body, getting more and more jealous by the second knowing that you’re not his anymore. You look around, curious to see if you can spot him in the crowd, but all you notice is a pair of men at a table in the corner staring at you. They look back and forth between you and each other. One of them pulls out his wallet, shows something to the other man, and then pulls out a phone. This concerns you slightly but isn’t surprising, not after the looks you’ve been getting since you walked in. 

Trying to brush it off, you turn the other way. “We should go dance” you exclaim, practically dragging him off of the bar stool. 

“Whatever you want baby,” he replies, catching up with your rushed pace. Other men stare at you but don’t dare to approach you, not when they notice the muscular arms that stay wrapped around you as you dance. His hands never leave you, constantly resting on your shoulders, hips, wrapped around your waist, or attached to your hands. After a while, you end up on a couch somewhere on the much calmer second floor. You’re trashed, just barely able to see straight. 

A familiar presence leans in close and mutters in your ear, sending shivers up your spine. “I’m going to go get you some water for you, stay here ok?” You nod and he kisses your cheek before walking away. 

Even though you’re out of it, you can still recognize the two men from earlier walking past you again. You stare back, sending them an equally dirty look, furrowing your brows in an attempt to deter them. When your date comes back, you tell him about the creepy dudes between sips of water. 

“They’re just jealous that I have the prettiest girl here” he says while putting an arm around you, still as flirtatious as ever. The walk outside is a blur. All you remember is his hands holding your face as you sat on his bike and him carrying your shoes as you walked to an elevator. 

As you slip in and out of reality, your head spins, a mess of neon colors and tender touches race around you and you can’t help but be reminded of who you’ve been looking for this whole time. 

The next time you’re fully conscious you’re in a bed filled with an unfamiliar masculine scent. You can hear someone moving from across the room, and you open your eyes to see your one-night flirt styling his hair in a cracked mirror on his dresser. 

“Hey lightweight” he whispers, “sorry for waking you up.”

You sit up, rubbing your eyes and sleepily replying “It's alright.” 

Once you’re fully awake, you notice he’s not wearing a shirt, to which your eyes widen. He must notice this as he hurries to say “Nothing happened between us last night, I slept on the couch.”

Instead of responding, you hide your now bright red cheeks behind your hands, to which you can hear him giggle. You continue to admire him as he throws a shirt over his head before walking over to where you’re laying. 

“I need to head out, I’ll take you back to your place later. You should get some rest” he mutters as he pets your hair tenderly. 

“Alright, be safe” you reply quietly while staring up at him, doe eyed. 

“Don’t worry doll, I’ll come back to you in one piece” he says, winking in your direction before leaving the room. 

When you hear him leave, you collapse onto the soft pillows behind you, falling into a dreamy haze of memories of your love affair once again. 

—

The endless days and even longer nights were starting to blur together. The blood that's seeping out of his abdomen slowly drying is the only way he’s able to tell time. He misses you, he hasn’t stopped thinking about you. He’s spent hours praying to everything he doesn’t believe in that you’re safe. You’re the only reason he's been able to keep himself alive through the haze of death that's been lingering around his blood soaked body for days now. Clicking echoes off of the walls as the many locks on the door to the room he's in are undone.  Two men saunter in, single file, both grinning maliciously. 

“Look at this.” One of them says bluntly through a thick Russian accent. 

A slightly crumpled picture rests in the man’s hand. It takes a moment before his exhausted, bloodshot eyes can focus, but he eventually gathers that it's a picture of you, alive and unharmed. It takes another moment for him to realize that you’re in someone else's arms. It's nearly impossible for him not to react, but he manages to keep up a stoic appearance in order to avoid even more torture. 

“He’s another one of 50 blessings’s stupid little puppets, and now he’s got his hands on your precious angel,” the man continues. Every word out of his mouth stings worse than the last. 

“They were at a club together all night, he’s awfully handsy.” The second man chimes in, holding up another picture of you with your “friend’s” hands creeping down your waist. 

It seems as though his lack of reaction bores them, and they throw the pictures on the ground in front of him before exiting the room. Moments after the door slams shut, tears begin to fall down his bruised face. He grits his teeth and exhales sharply. He didn’t want to cry, he didn't want to let himself feel the pain of losing you, especially when you didn’t seem to be bothered by his absence. It wasn’t surprising that you were with someone else, he did disappear with no explanation, but he didn’t want to believe that you’d move on from him so quickly. The tears falling onto his clothes mix with the still fresh blood on his face and leave behind diluted red stains on his once white shirt. 

Even though his wrists are rubbed raw, he still tries to pull his hands apart and rip the rope restraining him, even if it's just a small amount. 

Neuvillette, chief Iudex of Fontaine, an extremely powerful and well-respected man. That was how the world saw him. You, however, saw a much different side of him than everyone else did. Neuvillette was much softer around you. His professional demeanor slipped away, his voice softening and his body language becoming less tense. Seemingly everything he did was out of love for you. 

Relationships aren't without their ups and downs, and your relationship with Neuvillette was no exception. Something that continuously upset you was the fact that your love for each other was strictly private. You knew that it was for the sake of your safety and his reputation, but that didn't make it hurt any less. You couldn’t be seen in public with him, which meant dates were few and far between. Whenever you went out together it had to be at night, and any time you visited his office it had to be painfully brief so as to not raise any suspicion. This had gone on for months, you having to love him from the shadows was taking a major toll on your relationship. 

One day you decided you had finally had enough. It was rather late at night, you had just completed an awful shift at work and wanted nothing more than to be in Neuvillette’s comforting presence. You swiftly walked to the court of Fontaine, knowing that he would still be neck deep in paperwork. After looking around to make sure nobody saw you, you entered his office, softly closing the door behind you. 

“Hello, darling” Neuvillette greeted you without looking up from his work. 

“Hi” you grumbeled in response, plopping down on a couch near his desk. 

“Did anyone see you come in?” He questioned, peering up at you over his glasses.

You huffed, frustrated that the secrecy of your relationship was his priority at that moment. 

“Yes, Neuvillette, after months of us being kept a secret I made sure that nobody could see me.” 

He put his pen down, surprised by your hostile tone. 

“Beloved,” he stared into your eyes, his gaze overwhelmed with love for you, “you know that I do it to protect you. Each day I have trouble refraining from talking about how much I care for you.” 

You hated arguing with Neuvillette. No matter how angry you got, he remained as calm and stoic as always, no amount of aggression could shake him. 

You sighed deeply, knowing that everything he did was to keep you safe. 

“Yes, I know. It's just hard to go so long without seeing you each day.” You replied dejectedly, sinking deep into the plush cushion of the couch. 

Standing up from his desk, Neuvillette strode over to you, cupping your cheek in his gloved hand. 

“I promise I’ll make it up to you someday” he said softly. 

After accepting his promise, you walked back to your shared home, exhausted after the day you had.

–

“Dearest, wake up.” You hear Neuvillette call quietly. 

You crack your eyes open, unsure as to why he’s waking you up so early. 

“Don’t you have the day off today?” You groan, turning away from him in bed.

“I do, but I left something important in my office, and I’d like you to come get it with me” he says, 

You hoist yourself out of bed, too tired to fully grasp what he had said. After sluggishly getting dressed, you make your way to the bathroom. You style your hair carefully, Neuvillette watching lovingly from the doorframe. 

When you’re ready to leave, you’re surprised to see Neuvillette still waiting for you, a stark difference from your usual routine of one of you leaving the house five minutes after the other. 

“Are you ready to leave?” You ask him, confusion evident in your tone. 

“Yes, darling” he replies, holding his hand out for you to take. 

“But, what about…” you begin hesitantly. 

“Hush. It was upsetting you, so I’m taking it upon myself to fix it” Neuvillette says, enclosing your hand in his.  “Now, come with me” he whispers tenderly, his tide-colored eyes fixed on yours.