#Thread: First Meeting - Cyra

[forgotten-contract]

Aetherial manipulation was difficult at best, and dangerous at worst, so it was with an unspoken approval that the Elezen watched the way her ministrations soaked against grey temples, the beads of perspiration from the heat or pain he couldn’t tell, but to cast such direct alterations into the easily broken flesh of a skull with fleeting concentration was impressive; Especially if her gritted teeth were any indication. The woman’s voice was lighter than he had anticipated. Not in actual pitch mind you, but the lilt of her words (beyond the ichor of pain that seeped between them) held a tenure ill fitting for those serious eyes, one would have half expected a snarl to purse those lips by the way the Miqo’te had been so focused on her original task. Here, it was a mask of social convention easily recognized. Silvaire waited for a few moments, then a heartbeat more, relaxing his posture to hold his wrists behind his back as the taller figure leaned to study; to see (feel?) the pressure in her bones increase, the dense muscles of a well travelled frame coiling as pain seemed to throb, scald and pulse beneath her skin. Once more that voice spoke - this time to herself before any other - seemingly forgetting the stranger who waited; or those people beyond his eyes who had begun once more to question the situation. He hoped they wouldn’t think it was his doing. This time at least he was innocent of any misdeed within the city. Pretending he didn’t hear it, Silvaire offered a painted smile, eyes creasing with the expression as the façade played so naturally, speaking quietly as one would do to keep the privacy of another. “And in this heat no less.” There was mirth to his tone as he straightened, his eyes never leaving her own - the hidden warinesses towards the unknown he was so used to seeing - Turning on his heel Silvaire let a hand raise to brush the wayward strands of his hair away, speaking with that practiced casualty. “Just a moment.” Knowing the slightest movement of the woman would no doubt bring some secondary relapse of the dense ailment, He took one step towards the desk that had been abandoned in her misgivings; Taking the opportunity to sate the curiosity temporarily as to what her research had been to devour. Her penmanship was wanting, but legible nonetheless, scribbled notes and splotches of ink scratched this way and that - written for the eyes of her and her alone, all more questions than answers it seemed - nothing concrete in this child’s selection the brothers had offered. His brow furrowed for only an instant as the words took root. This was not simple study, this bordered on obsession. There were additional aspects to this book that lay across the table that caught his attention however. Mechanizations and locks primed across it. An item of value; perhaps not to a city-state, but quite obviously to the woman behind him. Pages tender to the touch from a well loved hand. Protection granted towards it with the same cherished attention one would their own selves. Interesting indeed. There was more to her than originally thought. All of these observations happened in an instant, it would not do to be caught snooping through the materials of a stranger after all. So, with slender fingers gliding across the tomes to move them this way and that, Silvaire was quick to pack up what he deemed as needed - capping the inkwell in time - and returned to her with her affects held with an honest hand towards her. “You’re pale and shivering, if I may say, are you staying nearby? May I accompany you?”

Her eyes had been shut tight to try and contend with the uncomfortable sensations that overwhelmed her being. She knew the sharp clatter of the chair would have drawn some attention, and even anticipated it would be enough cause for someone to approach. It was a more appropriate response to lean on someone when it was offered, but Cyra wasn't in the habit of relying on others. She took in a deep breath, taking a silent moment to calm the spinning storm in her head. With one hand, she tapped her temple, manipulating some of her aether to at least give her some relief for the time being. This finally gave her a chance to answer and even perceive the individual who had stepped out from the rest to offer aid.

"I just..." She breathed. "I just need a moment."

Indeed she did need a moment. It took far longer than she expected to care for her aches, and dizziness. Blinking away the spots, and the swirling room, she slowly righted herself. She wouldn't be back to her usual self, but it was enough to allow her to at least offer gratitude to the stranger who rushed over to check on her. In all honesty, it was the last thing she needed. But, it would be rude of her to not play her part and at least give him thanks for his concern.

The longer she waited to leave, though, the more discomfort seemed to rush forward. The air grew thick around her, like the flow of aether had halted or fully dissipated. The weight of that sensation took her by surprise, and the sense of dread that followed sat uncomfortably on her shoulders.

"I should be fine..." She seemed unsure even after the words had left her lips. Her eyes had finally focused, even with all of the unnatural feelings that rushed her senses. The man, or Elezen rather, who had approached was far taller than most people she had dealings with. Even with him dipping down to be on eye level with her, he was still impressively tall. "In my studies, I neglected to treat myself with as much care as I do my notes." She sighed. Cyra blinked a few times, trying to quiet the headache that seemed to cease for the time being. Whatever that was, it hadn't fully subsided.

[haechanhues]

Is This Goodbye? (III)

pairing : brother's best friend! hyunjin x fem!reader (mentions other members x reader)

genre : smut. fluff. angst.

warnings : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. smut scene that's a bit....idk. Period brain wrote that. So sorry. Bit of a weird dynamic between characters (Minho and Y/N specifically but also another character we have yet to meet in the present timeline but you'll see what I mean). Jealousy. Someone being emotionally unfaithful. last scene and a few scenes in there is unedited but there may be mistakes throughout anyway.

word count : 19.1k

taglist : @jisungsdaydreamer @minnieprincess85 @notevenheretbh1 @iovecb97

AU masterlist

playlist : burn - USHER, come back to me again - byun jin sub, lust - felip ft cyra gwynth, hate that - key ft taeyeon, consume - chase atlantic ft goon des garcons)

"So," You start, feeling so jittery that the bones in your body could misplace themselves within the confines of your skin, "Run it by me again-"

The boy in front of you is always so patient (especially with you).

Though, you suppose at this age you should call him a man now. His features appear more fierce and sharp as the time passes, but his eyes are still the same. Always sweetened with affection when regarding you.

"They'll go through the legal processes and if all goes well-" The possibility that it couldn't go through makes your skin crawl, "Then...he's ours. He'll be my brother. Legally."

You smile, but it's a smile that's hard to pinpoint. Glossy and grateful, yet sad and helpless. But Lee Minho mirrors it to the exact detail. Like he always does. He just knows, because, he knows you.

"And you..." With a wobbly inhale, his eyes bore into yours with a strong intensity, "You'll be theirs."

You can feel his guilt fill every crevice of his heart and you hate that you can see it so clearly. Hate the way he finds fault in himself because of the situation and how you ended up. Forgetting that, it was always a possibility, just not one that was very likeable.

You place your hand on his thigh, using him as leverage to lift yourself against the strong muscle to bring him into a kiss he can't refuse. He freezes, breath rattling slightly before he begins to kiss you back.

Kissing Minho feels like love. It is love.

His fingers thread into your hair, and he presses deeper into you, mouth opening slowly. The twist of your scents embroiders the two of you in a sweet daze that neither of you can snap out of. Your shampoo and the flutter of your dress, a sweet tropical scent and then his the natural scents of his home long nurtured into all of Minho's being; his clothes, his skin, his soul.

You pull away when your lips are swollen and Minho takes the time to brush away the evidence, combing your hair out of your face and smoothing out any stray tear that escapes your eyes. When it comes to your lips and the smudged tint his mouth left behind, his thumb falters.

He swallows harshly, the action bringing your gazes together like a puzzle piece, "We have to go before I make a mess of you."

Your bite your lip at his urgency, feeling it churn in your stomach. You look back a last time, committing to memory that overgrowth of fruit treees and clean lines of care long abandoned.

Your second safe haven, left alone for the two next souls that find each other and bond so much they can't bear to let go of each other.

Your first...leading the way to the next chapter in your life.

Felix is the first person you see in the room. At that point in time, you don't know him. He doesn't know you. But with what your parents have said, this boy in front you can only be Felix and with what his parents, your parents now, have said... you're Y/N.

"Hey," Contrary to first impressions, his voice is rich and deep in tone. His hair, the colour of thunderstorm clouds and long enough to brush behind his ear.

"Hey."

Felix points to himself lamely, "Felix. Or Youngbok. Feel free to use either."

You laugh (because it's awkward and he joins you for the same reason). You lick your lips, nerves dissipating with every second despite the weird tension in the room.

Neither of you know how to act around the other.

"Y/N," You smile, "No other 'or' I can think of, sorry."

He smiles warmly, hints of familiarity in the curves of his lips and the brightness of his gaze. It's a familiarity that saddens you, but you can't fault Felix for it, not when he's being so open and so welcoming to the invader. At the sound of his name from down the hall, you're pulled from the depth of your thoughts, the remnants left leaving a permanent mark. You feel empty, just a little.

Without realising, he turns to look at you, freckles pronounced more clearly as he steps forward, reaching out with a welcoming hand to pat you awkwardly on the head.

He'll learn to despair over the moment, complaining countlessly to anyone that will listen, that he was so fucking awkward that it's a miracle in itself that you even want to breathe the same air as him, much less like him. Then he'll attempt to reclaim his likeness by recounting how he helped you for weeks on end, spending time with you and inviting you into shared spaces. Showing you around the house and indulging in well kept secrets that only home owners would know. He'll discuss that the kitchen is ruled by him, that the study room has your mother in a tight grip and the living room is a space that your father and the stray cat, Tom frequents.

But for you, the love you had for him began with that single head pat.

A single head pat and it felt like you'd do everything for him. It felt stupid, but in that moment, Felix had changed the constructions of 'home' and what it meant to you. And you, never wanted to let it go.

It took awhile to get used to everything. But you learnt. You learnt that your father tends to leave the bathroom window wide open and needs to be reminded often. to close it before he goes to bed. You learn that the walls used to be a blue colour until your family moved in early 2007 and replaced them with a creamra wallpaper in 2011. You also learn that Felix would play 'Follow The Dot' with his freckles when he was bored.

It was a house you needed to learn and at the early hour of two AM you discovered that the house was harder to navigate in the dark and the thought of meeting Minho when the moon wore the night sky like a cloak made your blood rush through your body unlike anytime before.

Felix even introduced you to his friends. Changbin was a loud soul, always ransacking the whole room with his volume level alone. It was easy to forgive that due to being handsome and his helping hand whenever your Mum needed help. It came naturally to him, no thoughts running through his head as he placed a gentle yet protective hand onto the small of your back in the middle of a busy street or as he shielded you from the sky with a cute little umbrella, ignoring the way the rain painted his back.

Hyunjin in comparison wasn't as outwardly helpful as Changbin but he really wasn't horrible either. He enjoyed the attention given to him and could sweet talk a young mother into giving up her child to him if he was that sort of person. Anything he did caused tingles to run up your spine. Sometimes he'd smooth your hair down if a strand came loose or how he'd tower over you to get something from the top shelf. He also seemed to really enjoy and appreciate everyone around him.

But Felix's girlfriend....man

This was the first time you were meeting Felix's girlfriend and you were excited. He never really shut up about her and you never really had any luck bonding with girls the same age as you, naturally gravitating towards mother figures or the boys you grew up with.

"Hey," Her smile was insane and when she brought you into a hug, you closed your eyes from the warmth of it. Her perfume and the shampoo she uses, it was so pleasant you were a little in love.

She was pretty, somewhat tall and even taller when she wore heels. She began to take you out on regular lunch dates and would ask you questions.

Only one of her questions was about Minho and it wasn't even really about Minho;

How were you liking the family?

How were you feeling?

Do you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Partner?

Questions that made you feel oddly joyful that you had trouble keeping your excitement tolerable when you reunited with Felix again.

"Fun, huh?" He giggled a little, taken aback.

You nodded.

You loved her like a sister, much like you had already accepted Felix, you accepted her. Though it wasn't because of her relationship with Felix, it was because she was kind, generous and always willing to share gossip with you.

You even bragged about her with Minho and he laughed and made a comment about the love hearts in your eyes.

You weren't shy when it came to sharing about your new home life, Minho becoming victim to the inner layouts of the family dynamic and how you fit in. Even indulging him in the story of the stray cat, Tom who snuck into the living room whilst your dad was absent.

He, sadly was a little less willing to share about his own home life, but you were excited and that was enough for the both of you.

Moments went by and life was good, made better on the nights Minho came to visit. The handsome boy like sprinkles or the cherry kiss at the end of a good day.

"So....the guy that visits you, is he a nice guy?" Changbin asks, his voice borderline protective. The three of them stand there, with their arms crossed and their frowns a hybrid of different emotions.

"Huh?"

"Your boyfriend?" Changbin raises his eyebrow, "He visits at night, doesn't he?"

"He's not my boyfriend," You deny, shaking your head before peering curiously at the three of them, "How did you know about him?"

"We saw you both, in that roof balcony thing," Hyunjin shrugs, "Not your boyfriend?"

"Just friends," You smile, "He's a good guy though."

It has the boys questioning how much of it is true, if at all.

"Wanna bring him around when it's not dark? Mum would love to meet him," Felix offers. You stare back, horrified.

"She knows about him?"

"No," Felix snorts, "But it'll be nice to have a friend you can bring through the front door and not bushwhack every night just to see him."

True.

And Mum absolutely did love Minho. It touched you. Your mother opened her arms and practically scooped him up into a cuddle and Minho, ever the sweetheart and shy boy, blushed and attempted his best to return her hug.

Attempted because nothing could ever match one of her hugs.

He ended up scoring points with your father too, something as simple as a habit that he picked up as a child - family chores - scoring brownie points.

Felix also loved the way you lit up around Minho in a way he wasn't quite familiar with. For the most part, both Hyunjin and Changbin both liked him too. But, Felix was going to take his first ever opportunity in playing protective brother and not even a green flag like Lee Minho would stop him.

Felix's girlfriend smiled at Minho, offering a quick side hug before parting shortly afterwards, excusing herself to get more cups and party decorations left in her car. Though, not without an approving look shot your way.

You led Minho by the arm to the patio, fairy lights decorating the area and college kids pouring into the party, eyes widening as he acknowledges his surroundings and the passing murmurs of hello.

Changbin holds out two plastic cups for the both of you, eyeing the way Minho levels him with a polite smile, not reaching out for the cup of free alcohol.

"Do you want something alcohol-free?"

"Please."

Changbin only grins, "Don't stress," before venturing to the section with unopened cans and a supply of fizzy drink and grape juice. Not without stopping by Hyunjin, handing him the cup that Minho didn't take. Hyunjin accepted it with a small show of thanks, returning to both Felix and his girlfriend who greedily listen to his words with rapt attention.

It was a nice sight.

Hyunjin's words seemed to create imagery behind their eyes and their lips and eyebrows could barely contain their own excitement. Fe;ix's girlfriend even sat there listening attentively as Felix's fingers were tracing patterns into the skin of her thigh.

Changbin returns with the non-alcoholic options, thrusting a glass of fizzy guava drink into your hand, encouraging you to drink up. Minho's arms slid around you naturally as you dawdled forward to join your brother and his people. The story was nice, but you found more comfort in the way Minho rhythmically tapped away at your waist.

The circle was full of laughter and affection, everyone's bodies close and the rules of personal space void. Changbin sat on the opposite side of you, leaning into the two of you and creating a blanket of serenity for the both of you.

Everything was so new to you, but at the same it felt familiar almost.

The rumbling of Minho's laughter against your back and the warmth of the fire licking the length of your legs. Felix's girlfriend's loud amusement to match Felix's show of agreement and Hyunjin's show of endless passion.

You never wanted it to change.

When the night gets colder and the huddle became the only thing standing between life and death, Felix went to fetch some more firewood and Changbin had already abandoned you both in hopes to find a girl to talk to, stating the two of you made him lonely.

Watching the night sky, your murmur lowly with words that didn't really make sense, fatigue stretching over you, "Is that cass-ca...that star constellation? There? Name?"

Minho huffed a small chuckle, amused before leaning his head affectionately on yours, "Yes. That's a star constellation."

"Do you think Jeongin will be okay?" You mutter, feeling a heavy weight creep into your throat, hurting you and stripping you bare. Minho's easygoingness pauses, tightening his hold around you.

"Yes. I promise."

"Has he called you hyung yet?" You whisper, feeling your eyes become glassier by the second.

"Not yet," Minho admits, though he doesn't make an effort to promise you anything this time.

And you can't even say anything more because then someone will just be wrong and right now, you just can't have anything like that. You can't risk it. Not when this is the literal best scenario that you hoped endlessly for.

And it appears neither can he because....

"Does Felix's girlfriend actually like him?"

It comes so out of nowhere, you almost fall off of him at the sheer intensity and your head immediately whips to look at said girlfriend, defence already on the top of your tongue, "Yeah? She-oh. She's just really affectionate I think. The first time she met me she hugged me as if we had been friends for ages. She even hugged you tonight after meeting you once!"

"True," Minho accepted.

But, if Minho had noticed something....the truth of it was a little bit more plausible. You studied the way Hyunjin and Felix's girlfriend was cocooned, closely but not so close that you could immediately determine anything. She was smiling and laughing, the sound endless and Hyunjin....enjoying her attention. At least, just a little.

You dismissed it, giving the benefit of the doubt and a looming feeling in your stomach.

Now slightly uncomfortable, you rest back into your comfort, linking your fingers with his and closing your eyes. Too busy wishing and hoping to even dream.

Unfortunately the feeling doesn't cease, it seems that whatever idea Minho had planted in your head had already started growing its roots because every single interaction between them seemed a little too loaded. In fact, it was actually starting to anger you a little.

Sometimes, Felix would have the two of them over. Felix would have the controller in his hand and headset over his ears and the two of them would talk. She would giggle and joke around with Hyunjin and Hyunjin would smile and always willing to joke back.

Sometimes, Felix would lose a round and she'd be there to snort and Hyunjin would wrap him up in a hug after letting out a little giggle.

Sometimes, Felix would be talking and she'd just...make fun of his nerdy little tendencies. Berate him even.

"Oh Felix, you're really too old to be into things like this."

Then she'd turn to Hyunjin and be oh so interested in whatever he was spouting. The types of wine he used to steal from his grandmother's cellar or parties he attended, or even the songs on his drawing playlist. She'd laugh and laugh and laugh it all up.

Frowning a little, you take a seat beside Felix, a cold smile plastered on your face at the way she brushes a hand against Hyunjin's stomach and you lean into Felix, "Can you teach me how to play?"

Your reward is Felix's smile, the only smile in the room you decide you really want.

"Absolutely," So he teaches you, a tad impatient and passionate but kind and so genuinely happy you're taking an interest. It takes a few hours before you actually have to force yourself away from the game, too involved that you're starting to scare yourself and everyone else.

"See, huh huh? What did I tell ya?" Felix's drawl is teasing as his avatar beats the ogre that has been relentlessly chasing you through that shitty pixelated jungle on the screen.

"Hey- Lix, Imma go," Hyunjin cheeses as he shakes Felix's hand. You freeze as he bends down to plant a chaste kiss on the top of your head, "See you Y/N."

He casts a quick look at Felix's girlfriend, who watches him like he's some heaven sent creature, "Bye."

A few minutes pass and when it's clear Hyunjin has really left, Felix's girlfriend lets out a breath, "I'm actually gonna go too, Lixie."

"What?"

"Well you're on your game and-"

"I'm on my game because you've been talking to Hyunjin-"

"Hold on, are you going to accuse me of cheating on you with Hyunjin?"

"No. But-"

"Look, I didn't think I would need to explain my actions to you, but I thought I should leave because you're bonding with your sister. Not because of Hyunjin. Can you just stop with the Hyunjin thing?" She bites at Felix before leaving the house with a slam of the front door.

Felix sighs before combing his hair back with his hands, game paused.

"That was-"

"Rough?" Felix offers with his eyebrows raised before his features even back out, "I know."

You were thinking more 'overreaction' but 'rough' works just as well.

"Hyunjin thing?" You ask instead, borderline dangerous territory you're venturing across. Wondering whether or not you really had the right to be here.

"I mentioned that maybe her favourite person was Hyunjin as a joke but she got defensive and now has been acting like this, "Felix explains, "It doesn't look great, I know."

"I'm sure it doesn't feel great either," You frown.

Felix leans in to knock his shoulder with mine, 'Don't worry about me. She's a sweet girl, really. We're just fighting a little."

"I'm allowed to worry about you," You mention, earlier insecurities catching up to you, "Right?"

His smile is slow and purposeful, perhaps even a touch sad, "Of course you're allowed to be worried and me with you, I'm allowed to be worried about you as well. It's only fair."

You sigh, "Fiiine."

"So, in saying that," He smiles and your groan is like music to him, "I like Minho but I like you more, stop meeting him so frequently in the early hours of the morning. Front door, always. Okay?"

It's nice. To be worried over like this. But you'll never be able to squash the fact your trump card is unwavering concern about those you love and how they fit into their own world.

Never in a million years.

So he may be forgiving when she makes little attempts to grab at Hyunjin's knee or paw at his arm whenever he talks. But not you. You watch like a hawk and you stalk towards the two of them, eyes jumping judgementally.

"Hey, can you help me?" You blurt out to Hyunjin, words tumbling out of you in an attempt to make sense, tone sweet, "Please?"

Hyunjin's eyebrows furrow in concern and her eyes, wide with curiosity and a tiny flicker of annoyance.

"I think Felix is at the mailbox."

You smile at her before you watch Hyunjin lift from his seat, following after you as you lead him away from the crowd and prying eyes. Lips pressing together in thought.

"You're good at braiding hair, right?"

Truthfully, nobody has ever said he was good at braiding hair and on second thought, maybe it wasn't the best distraction, considering....

"Uhh- I'm alright at it?" Hyunjin frowned, "Though why didn't you ask-?"

"In all honesty I don't know either," You shake your head, earning you a little laugh as he places both his hands onto your shoulder blades leading you to the bathroom.

"Tell me what you need then," Hyunjin smiled, watching as you pulled out two strands of hair clumsily in the front.

"I just don't like what's going on with this," You motion, a little frazzled. Though you were putting on an exaggerated act, it oddly didn't feel like it.

He smirked, rounding around your frame to make proper eye contact with you, "First things first, we'll have to fix your parting."

You startle a little, surprised by him. He's gentle, freeing bits of tied hair out of its elastic shackle and you're left to stare at him as he expertly threads your hair together in little elaborate braids, cleaning them up with a bit of water.

He really is handsome.

Though, there are a lot of handsome people in your life.

"There."

His smile slowly fades as he looks at you, swallowing harshly at the air caught in his throat. Your own smile mirroring the moment his drops. His finger strays to follow the skin of your lip, causing your whole body to tingle.

"He's lucky to have you," Hyunjin whispers, "You know."

"I'm lucky to have Felix," You whisper back and his back straightens. Eyes imploring into yours with something you can't quite decipher. His body frozen underneath the bathroom light and an evening tinted breeze.

He hums, dropping his hand like an anchor and stepping away from you, "Yeah. Felix."

This time, it really gets to you and it becomes clearer than day. Fact. Felix's girlfriend has a crush on Hyunjin and not one that could just be battered away with time. One that is disrespectfully stuck and manipulative, with only Felix suffering as a result.

It's Friday night, student hour. Hyunjin and Felix's girlfriend are planning to meet a few of their other casual friends at the club. Felix is too sick and opted to stay home, his girlfriend only offering to stay home with him when Hyunjin did.

"I really wish you'd come, Bok," Hyunjin comments. Felix's girlfriend pouts and nods, as if she fully supports the idea and it makes you sick to your stomach.

"Cause getting refused at the door sounds like a good idea and not a total waste of time," Felix snorts sarcastically sending him into a spluttering fit. You grimace at the sound, finding it on par with the visual of his sickness but ultimately rejoicing in his snark.

He's right though, he'd definitely get turned away.

"You don't have to stay Y/N, I'm perfectly capable of being home by myself," Felix tells you, and your initial reaction is to refuse. You want to stay with Felix, you really do. But you don't want to see Hyunjin and Felix's girlfriend all over each other and flirting like nobody's at home waiting for them.

And if you go...

Perhaps, a plan would be able to be set in motion.

"I don't have anything to wear," You groan.

Hyunjin grins, nodding his head towards Felix's girlfriend, "She brought over plenty. Use one of hers."

Her face is pained.

Yours, is the complete opposite.

"I've got a suitcase upstairs, come down with whatever you find and I can do your makeup if you like," She offers and it's kind, but it's slathered in a lard like substance you feel she wants to smother you with.

You choose the clothes at random, not drawn to one over the other. You find a sparkly midnight blue shirt with long sleeves and a black skirt, a pairing you've never been lucky enough to wear without regret. You stare at them before quickly pulling them both on. It's a little tight in areas you feel they shouldn't be and loose in areas you want them to be tight.

But, admittedly, you do look like a dream.

Your hands run down the material, inspecting the roundness of your ass.

Hyunjin spots you first, and his reaction has you pausing. It feels like the moment in the bathroom all over again. Eyebrows raised and tension electrified. Though the moment is broken when Felix and his girlfriend turn to see you, her mouth dropping and Felix's grin turning brotherly.

"You're beautiful," She admits, to which the smile you show her is sincere, growing only when she turns to look at Felix with a fond look, regret building, "Isn't she?"

Destroyed only when Felix coughs, the appearance of her disgust in sync with your sincerity. Lost and brushed away by the wind. She smiles at you again, gentle with your skin as she rubs in some cream and gives your hair a little life.

"Shall we go?" She has the gall to grin at you then, her eyes landing nowhere near her actual boyfriend. Once again. Hyunjin nods and immediately smacks Felix's hand. She follows after him, giving Felix a non committed little side hug to which he accepts dutifully.

Ignoring his sickness, you embrace your brother wholeheartedly, the both of you falling into a heap, your eyes closing as he wheezes a hearty laugh into your ear, "What are you doing? What if you get sick?"

"I wish you were coming," You muse, eyes still closed and your body enjoying his brotherly warmth he eagerly shows you.

"We have plenty of time," He whispers back, before he is sent into another coughing fit.

"You really don't have to come with us if you don't want to," She comments, your expression tightening at her voice scraping the roof your ear. You rise from your position in denial and Hyunjin smiles, eyes meeting yours.

"I want to come," You say instead. This time, you miss her expression. But you see his. His eyes, they twinkle.

You pile into the Uber with a last goodbye, all three of you painfully sober that they missed the opportunity to pre-drink. Plans on how to get drunk fast pouring out of their mouths, "We down a couple of shots and have a beer or something."

You look out the window, letting yourself be ignored. But out of the corner of your eye, she's turned her back to him and she's brushing her hair out of her face, "Can you zip up my dress?"

Hyunjin nods, zipping up the dress without a fuss and you stare at him through the reflection. You can't seem to understand him.

"Did you draw that character I told you about?"

"Nope. But I did draw those flowers, so thanks."

A giggle, "You're welcome. Do you often listen to One Direction while you paint?"

"Only sometimes."

You get out of the Uber with Hyunjin's confident goodbye and your quiet farewell, both you girls following after Hyunjin. Her hand is on his shoulder and you've opted to brave the slight drizzle of rain that welcomes you to the night sky.

"Hey Hyunjin," A few greetings bid their hellos as you walk past them all. He's a bit of a nightclub celebrity with how many of them walk by. Even Felix's girlfriend gets a couple of girls to come up to her.

With her other hand, she twists towards you to link holding your hand, leading you through the throng of drunken party-goers.

The drinks pour in one after the other, every third drink a shot of hard liquor and the in between being a cheap RTD option or wine to get you just as drunk as everyone else in the club. It's also an opportunity to watch her as she starts to flirt more openly with him.

"Hey, would you fuck that blonde in front of me and Felix if I asked?" She mutters, which falls on his deaf ears.

Not yours though.

You notice she's also started to press her boobs together with her arms, puckering her lips as she leans in to tease him, "I haven't seen your type around here yet."

Hyunjin pauses, his eyelashes lifting as drinks at his drink, "I have."

"You have?" She questions with a flirty giggle "Where?"

"Around," He drops his now empty bottle onto the counter, leaning over to request another to the bartender, "You want one, Y/N?"

"Hey! What about me?"

"You don't need another," Hyunjin rolls his eyes before acknowledging you kindly, "Y/N?"

You hold up your bottle with half the drink still left over to which he accepts without so much of a fuss, "Just me then, thanks bro."

"Aww, are you worried about me?" She hiccups. She does look somewhat cute, though all that cute is buried under the huge pile of undeserving. Underserving of Felix and his time. His love.

"If you drink more than I have to take you home and I'm enjoying myself so I'd rather not," He explains to which she pouts but thankfully accepts without another attempt to pull at his heart strings.

"OH MY GOD," She shouts to which you wince, "There's Park Seonghwa, he's a partner at the firm, I'll be right back!"

The two of you watch as she stumbles through the crowd confidently, both your expressions grim. You turn to him, opening your mouth, "Hyunjin?"

He bends himself lower so he can you a little better without straining, "Yeah baby?"

Bleugh.

"I want to go home," You tell him, managing to keep a straight faced expression and you're a little grateful he agrees too easily, already opening the Uber app. It doesn't feel good leaving the two of them alone together though...

And with how drunk she is...

"I'll walk you, c'mon," Hyunjin says, his hand clasping yours as he walks you to the entrance, towards the neon lit stairs you ventured up in search of the bar. And when the ringing in your ears becomes only a memory of the crowd you just escaped from, he returns his hands to his pockets like a gentleman.

"I hope you had fun," He muses.

"I did," You grunt, which has his eyes furrowing briefly before he sees you're having trouble coming down the staircase on your own. His shoes clack against the floor as he travels upstairs to meet you, hands outstretched and a gorgeous smile on his face.

"That's good then."

"Come with me?" You offer. His mouth opens and closes, and the smile slowly falls off his face and is replaced with confusion. Head tilting a little.

He must've heard you wrong.

But you've made a decision, right then and there.

Morally a good one? Arguably.

But it's a decision.

With held breath, your hand wraps around the nape of his neck to pull him into a kiss that has his breath hitching. His hair, thick enough to curl your digits through, tickling at his skin over and over again until you get sick of it. But it's so addictive, the thought is impossible. Because his hair is as soft as his lips are plush. Time has stopped and everything is quiet.

You open your mouth experimentally, letting him fill the gaps if he so pleases. One of his hands grips at your hips to pull you closer so you're flushed against his front and the other at your neck and his thumb at the curve of your jaw, teasing you with the possibility that he might just squeeze.

He tastes of a mixed alcohol, but you don't mind it, oddly enjoying the feeling of his lips more because of it. His kiss breathing new life into you.

Your hands are everywhere on his taut and lithe frame, obsessively attached to his hair just as his is addicted to the curl of your hips.

He presses harder into you, tongue brushing along yours in a way that has you swooning. He makes a low groan into your mouth at your compliance. The sound of it zipping straight to your core, heating the energy between you.

You don't want to pull away.

But you do.

"Come with me," You say again, your hands resting on his shoulders, eyes half lidded staring into the eyes that have already melted into your own. He's heaving, thick swollen lips and a gaze like fire, and your core calls him prey for it.

"Okay."

As soon as you cross the threshold of the hotel room, your back is against the wall of the living room, your hands following blindy as yhe leads you throughout the predictable layout, leaning away from you only to rest his forehead against yours.

When he opens his eyes, his gaze is on you and your hands have minds of their own as they squeeze at his waist.

You think he's going to utter a word when you lean upwards to kiss him this time. A sweeter kiss that he does his best to follow after. His hands no longer wandering along your body but cupping both cheeks in his large hands.

"Tell me you don't want it," He murmurs dazedly.

You can see how the kiss has gotten to him, and you can feel it. A weight resting on your stomach, but you can feel his restraint as it sticks to his fingertips, rendering them completely white.

"Why would I?" You whisper back, and Hyunjin swallows.

"Sometimes I'm not gentle," Hyunjin warns, cocking his head and his voice so low it makes your own stomach drop in anticipation.

"Sometimes neither am I," You challenge him back, to which he lifts one of your legs to wrap around his torso and he pushes against your core. Your eyes fluttering shut at the brush of friction against your underwear clad pussy.

"Last chance," He enunciates, his hand splaying out at your spine, and the other twirling his hands in naughty little circles at your ankles, trailing upwards with every second he counts down in his head.

At your silence, he squeezes at the meat of your thigh, "I'll take this as permission then..."

He seizes your lips rough making you feel oh so delicious inside. His hands, although feather like along the swell of your breasts and the thin sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh, strong against your hips when he grips them, punishing your pussy with a thrust of his hips against the fabric.

His kisses begin to paint you possessively from your mouth, in between your tits and up your throat, sucking at the skin as he sees fit. Devouring you until you're squirming against him in search of exposed skin to grind on until you're completely spent.

It's like he's made to devour you.

Your hands are strangely cold against the heat of his stomach, and he tenses at the way your nails scratch along every ridge of his muscles, groaning into your ear like some wild animal.

He can't help it.

He can feel how wet you are between your thighs and it's started to coat the front of his pants.

Daring him to rut against you.

He ruts a little, indulging into his desires to feel you twitch against him, but the whine you let out ruins the thin layer of his self control, crumbling and trashing it like nothing.

"Hyunjin," You're even pleading and he loves it. Every attempt to extend your sentence purposefully drawn in an attempt to attain your regret is halted by every experimental thrust and every brain fog inducing kiss.

He's drunk of this new feeling.

"Yeah baby, tell me," He teases, the movement of his lips quiet and ticklish at the surface of your chest.

"Ah-" Your eyes squeeze shut at a particular roll of hips, his mouth sucking at your breast, "I-"

"You-?" Hyunjin cocks his head, watching the way the pleasure he gives you extracts your soul and every shed of your identity leaving something completely primitive.

"Want it," You stutter pathetically, your underwear completely soaked through. There's no doubt in your mind that you want him right now and even if you had a chance, you wouldn't, not when it feels this good, "Want you."

He doesn't speak, only watches as you make your hushed pleas, sadistically challenging you with his heated gaze. With his eyes on you, his fingers pick at your soiled underwear, hooking it to the side and you feel your body tensing with need.

Fuck.

He feels like he won't last just by looking at you, and with just a slight breeze on your clit you feel like you won't last either.

With eyes still on you, he presses an open hand against your core, enjoying the way you jerk underneath his touch and the feeling of your arousal dripping down his hand. Your hips move on their accord, impatient with his waiting game of tease.

He loves the way you clench at nothing, your core wanting nothing more but to swallow his load.

"Asshole," You growl.

You even have a bit of a mouth on you.

Who knew?

"Hot as fuck," He praises, pulling his hand away to kiss at your pussy, the sounds lewd enough and the pleasure unreal. You pull at his hair, and he groans at the pain, delving deeper into your core, tongue swirling at the bud of nerves.

You begin to coat his lips.

His chin.

He enjoys it to the point of delusion.

He wants it.

He wants nothing more.

He pulls away with a pucker, letting you feast your eyes on his need for you. He makes no effort to wipe at his mouth, his hands falling to his pants to free himself. He's long and pretty. Much like the rest of him.

He sucks his bottom lip, sliding between your spread legs and slathering his cock with your arousal like never ending lube. He taps at your clit, like he's born to tease you.

You go to curse him out.

"Be patient," He orders, and the octave of his voice has your instant obedience. And like an obedient little thing, you watch him. Expect of him. Hope for him.

He palms himself, and you follow the movement like you can't wait for him.

"There's a traffic light system, heard of it?" Tapping at your clit with the tip of his cock. One. Two. Three.

A hitch of breath.

A jerk of your hips.

An impatient whine.

"Red, orange, green....Pick one."

"Hyunjin-"

"I'm not going to do anything until you pick one," He smirks, "C'mon, it's not hard to understand. Red means this all stops and green means the complete op-"

"Green!" You yell.

You don't think you could shout it any louder.

"-Posite," He feels wolfish, sliding into you and losing all control as you clench around him, walls warm and wet. You exhale and Hyunjin thinks if it were a drink, it would sustain him for the rest of his life.

He presses his lips to yours, cushioning the sounds that escape past your lips and distracting himself from coming too early.

He eases in and out of you, teeth gritting as your face morphs into all forms of enjoyment.

"Fuck," You curse at a particular dangerous roll of his hips that send butterflies out of your aching core, dragging him into your body. You squeeze at his arms so harshly and he winces at the crescent moons you create on his biceps.

He huffs out a pleasurable laugh, eyes dropping to the marks with a greedy reverie.

He thrusts harder, aiming at the spot that has your moans wanton and uncontrollable. He bites his lips until they're tightly shut, wanting to listen to only your moans until you cry. Fuck. He wants nothing more to join your songs of pleasure but he wants to hear you more.

He wants to hear it.

Couldn't bear to move on from this moment with that kind of regret.

He wants you in his ear. Your dirty and your filthy, he wants to hear it all.

But you, you wanted nothing more to hear his. Unsatisfied, your hands paw at his back, desperately dragging them down in an attempt to break through his restraint, rewarded by an unrestrained and whiny moan of his own.

"That's better," You muse, letting his sounds wash against you.

"You're so fucking dirty," He swears, grunting into the blush of your skin, his waist snapping into yours relentlessly. But it seems like you won, because, when you made that mark down his back he couldn't stop all his moaning and heaving.

At the tell tale sign of your incoming orgasm, your arms thread behind his shoulders and your legs tense around his frame, all the while he takes you all the way to heaven. His thrusts becoming sloppy as his body tenses.

He pulls out of you, jerking himself off until hot spurts of his come paint your whole chest and stomach.

He collapses onto the bed next to you, his forehead and hair doused in sweat and sex. Tried, you feel the foreshadowing of pain in your tender thighs and the dents in which his fingers grabbed at you so desperately.

The buzz of his phone brings up the volume of the room, save for his breathing, "Your phone buzzed."

He makes a noise of acknowledgement, "What's it say?"

"Code?"

"5188."

Felix's girlfriend. Asking about the two of you and where you got off to. If he was coming back.

With a slight curve of your lips, you reply for him, 'Found a girl. Sorry.'

You giggle, "I said you had 'found a girl.'

Hyunjin snorts, casting you a teasing look, and you take a pause for how truly handsome he is, "Way to make me sound shifty.'

"It's not wrong though," You chortle, your hands pointing back at yourself in display, "You did."

Hyunjin raises his eyebrows, his lips boyishly tilting upwards, "I did."

You smirk back at him as he stares at you. His gaze is fire, but it's not. It's all melty, something in his gaze that has you a little confused.

A little scared.

You're not sure you like it.

But you're sure you don't quite dislike it either.

When you awake in the morning, alone, you're not saddened. The brief confusion of last night's events tumble away like a passing thought. He left no note. No nothing. You suppose you should leave and head back home, because if there is one thing you're desperate for right now, it's a shower.

You pull on your clothes that are clearly worn and torn from the night before, a brief look in the mirror to make sure you're presentable and your feet struggling to fit into each shoe. Your thighs are tender and your feet weirdly swollen. You’re fucking limping. Seriously?

"I hope you aren't in a rush?"

At the teasing and levelled question, you follow the sound, startled when you see Hyunjin, classically handsome as ever resting his forearms on the kitchen counter with a plastic bag of goodies next to him.

"You brought...breakfast?" You frown, slightly surprised.

"Well I did just fuck you until you couldn't walk properly," He smirks, his stare pointed, "Think of it as basic aftercare, baby."

"You like a good pet name," You notice, cocking your head in a beckoning challenge.

He mirrors the sentiment with his own, "If the situation calls for it, yeah."

You chortle, folding your arms, ready to hear what kind of line he's curating in his head about this situation, "And what is this situation, exactly?

"I want this to be a regular thing. I'm here hoping you'd let me take you out and you have all the power to decide what you do with me," Hyunjin smacks his lips together and his confidence is there, charismatically and respectfully waiting for your input.

"Do you have to take out girls for this to be a regular thing?" You ask and Hyunjin's lips shrivel at the question.

"Girls? No," Hyunjin admits, "You though? Yeah."

You frown at him, staring in silence. The lingering feeling of last night making an unwelcome return.

"Uh."

The eyes that stare back at you are warm, rippling along the delicate nerves of your skin with comfort instead of the burning uncertain fire that accompanied you last night.

He bites at his lip and tugging at the ring secured around his finger, the one you gave to him just short of two years ago.

You tuck a stray hair behind his ear, and zero in on the way his eyes flutter at your touch.

"Minho," You call, too concerned by the way he leans into you.

His eyes open wide, remembering himself. He straightens in his seat, clothes pristine and elegant a stark contrast to your simple t-shirt and shorts.

You wonder if Jeongin wears these types of clothes now.

"We text now," Minho admits, staring at you in a way that makes you believe he's expecting something from you. Worried about your reaction, almost. Either way.... "Jeongin and I."

"That's great," You reply, "Does he call you hyung yet?"

"Not yet," Minho cocks his head and you can't help the gentle smile on your face, the action making his expression soften, "What's with that grin? Huh?"

"My brother's hard to win over, isn't he?"

The smile on his face is still there, but you can see the dwindle of the light that graced his face before.

You swallow, "-You know what I mean."

"No," Minho shakes his head, "He's still your brother."

You're silent. Too silent.

"He is," Minho asserts, hand gripping at your hands more firmly. Stomach churning at the crossroads you've lived to confront. To admit he's your brother is to-

"I've got to tell you something," You blurt.

"Yeah?" He sips at his wine, relaxing a little in his seat. Welcoming the change with open arms.

"I have a date with Hwang Hyunjin."

The rigidness of his frame, sends you into a spiral. Nonsense was spouted and now there is the discomfort that you and Minho tried to ignore.

"Hyunjin asked me out I think," You ramble, hands rolling in defence, "I don't know. This might help Felix."

"And you want to use Hyunjin to..." His tone tilts, "Do what exactly?"

You swallow, "Well....Maybe this way, I can remove Hyunjin from the equation."

He doesn't let on whether he's impressed or not. Truth is, neither are you. It was a plan concocted when you left Hyunjin's place, promising him you'll think about it.

"Are you mad?" You question, needing to know. Begging him to look at you.

He pauses, digits playing with the wine glass charm at the bottom of his glass, "I have no control over who you date or don't, Y/N."

You harshly swallow, conversation weighing on you like an ultimatum, "I don't want to lose you."

Minho sighs, his knuckles creasing in the skin of his forehead briefly, as if he's pained to then face you, any expression wiped away, "You won't lose me, Y/N. You won't lose him. No matter what your decisions are."

He breathes deeply, excusing himself from the table to go to the bathroom.

He pays for the light meal and the wine you shared.

Then kisses you lightly on the lips goodbye.

And you cry for hours on the cold floor of your bathroom.

Love is just wonderful.

But sometimes, sometimes it feels like it's not for you, terrorising you at every corner with complications and obstacles. Offering a man you love and can technically have but won't. Offering another man that you only plan to use for the morally challenged greater good.

Your first date with Hyunjin isn't what you imagine it'd be. Nor does it end in sex or anything of the sort.

The farm is spring. The epitome of spring. Rows and rows of pretty pastel colours that belong on some influencer's social media account. The sun is hot and beams straight onto you both.

"Wow," You mutter, "It's so hot."

"Yup," He agrees, then, he's touching you and for a minute all you can remember is what happened. Your breathing hitches at how easily he touches you. Only to realise he's rubbing in sunscreen to your exposed skin. With a single finger, he paints a line down the expanse of your cheek, letting you rub the cream in yourself.

"What was that?"

"Can't have my date exposed to skin cancer on our first can I?" Hyunjin teases.

"And what about you?" You scoff, pointing out his pale skin, "You're more likely to burn, no?"

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, before slathering his own skin with a good dollop of sunscreen, letting it smooth all over. Smiling to yourself, you eagerly take the opportunity to paint a smiley face onto his rounded cheeks and exposed nape of his neck. He shudders at the feeling, stumbling clumsily away from the sensation.

"You're a cheek," Hyunjin calls, taking note of your teasing and rubbing in your art making you pout, "Hey can we get four punnets, please?"

"Absolutely. Our strawberry farms are in the greenhouse tents at the end, but apart from that every section will have the name of the berry on the sign. So just keep an eye out. The price is also determined by the weight."

"Thanks," He charms the worker before you follow him all while he shows you the empty containers with nothing other than joy.

The strawberry tent is slightly wet and the grass squelches as you walk on it, the sound bringing a grimace to your face. Strawberries are plentiful and the red bleeds onto the crevices of the green.

"You know the proper way to pick them?" You ask, the words causing him to lean a little further into you and your space.

"Teach me?" He says with a smile you can't quite trust.

You grip at the strawberry softly, forefinger and middle finger embracing the flesh with support from your thumb, "We want the chicken claw pose then lift it....you listening?"

He smiles, head falling onto the crown of your head, lips quirking, "I'm listening..."

"And then.." At the crisp sound of the stalk separating from the fruit, you smile in satisfaction. All the while Hyunjin smiles at how sweet you are.

He bites his lip when you watch him expectantly, eyes never leaving him as he reaches for a single juicy looking strawberry, his eye contact zig zagging continuously between you and the fruit, "Like this?"

You smile, pleased, "Yeah."

With that you fill the container, both of you sharing one of the biggest strawberries you've ever seen in your life. With the juice running down your fingers, Hyunjin smirks before leaning forward to take a bite of the strawberry, his bottom lip brushing against your thumb.

You intake a sharp breath, his whole body up against yours, leaning into you and you're worried about how much he'll see. How he'll immediately notice the way your heart pounds against your rib cage and how much your eyes struggle to make eye contact when he's so close and his gaze so heated.

That fire.

"It's really so good," Hyunjin murmurs, the words licking at you with lust and seduction. You swallow, afraid to look at him.

"Let's go to the blueberries," You demand, walking out of the tents at a faster pace than you would've originally.

You don't hear Hyunjin laugh, but you can almost see the smile that's brought to his face at the sheer fact that whatever game he was playing...you've lost.

You're a lot less gentle with the blueberries, your playful demeanour dormant underneath all the bashfulness you're parading. It's cute, the way you haven't stopped looking at him. So even if you haven't been speaking to him for almost twenty minutes now, he'll take it as a win.

"I'm sorry," He nudges you with his shoulder a little, secretly wanting to see you pout that whole time he's with you.

You furrow your eyebrows harder, harsh lines across your forehead like a failed attempt putting a screensaver on a phone. He's pretty sure your neck has veins with the severity of your 'anger'.

"Huh?" Hyunjin smacks his lips to attempt from smiling, "What do I have to do for you to forgive me?"

"Give me that jumper," You say at once, so fast he struggles to distinguish what it was you said exactly.

HIs gaze drops to his white Versace jumper, hesitantly turning toward you. A little confused but too curious.

Damnit.

His lips quirk, "Why the jumper?"

“I want it. I’ve never had Versace,” You hold your hand out like a spoiled little brat, beckoning him to move with the flick of a finger. 

Hyunjin exhales, looking around at the rows of shrubs and a cooling sky, before he looks at you. Again, “Except you’re looking at me, Y/N.” 

You open your mouth, only for his next words to completely blindside you, “And with the way you’re looking at me….I can’t be sure it’s the jumper you want…” 

He’s teasing you, with that little smirk he has. It’s almost like he’s taunting you. So try again. Better luck next time! 

Shit fucking- 

You turn back to the shrubs filling the blueberries with speed and precision and Hyunjin follows you, amusement painted on him like a second skin at your demise. He reaches for the containers out of your hands, leading you to the thick crowd of bush at a back section, adorned with blackberries. 

You join him, his eyes dancing with light as he swivels around slightly to face you, “Decided to join me?” 

“I’m just making sure you pick the good ones, Hyunjin,” You deny, face turning away to hide your smile. 

“How do you know I won’t?” Meanwhile Hyunjin wears his grin with glimmering pride. He picks at the blackberries, enjoying the taste of one. 

You don’t say anything, opting that silence is the best comeback you could have right now, only to fluster at his next words. 

“Glad to see you use my name,” He raises an eyebrow, “I didn’t think you knew it.” 

You snort, “Don’t be so dramatic. I’ve called you by name so many times. I’m not going to call you Philip, am I?” 

“More often than not you don’t say my name, you avoid it even,” He comments, his thoughts glossing his eyes over, “At least that’s what it feels like.” 

“...I don’t mean to? I don’t think I do that… You noticed?” 

“How couldn’t I?” Hyunjin shrugs again, feigning a neutral expression as he fills the container up, one by one. 

“I’m sorry,” You apologise, the silence is loud. So loud and awkward and gangly, sitting there at your table with twitchy joints. 

“So I like it,” Hyunjin glances at you meaningfully, “I’d like to hear it more from you.” 

“Okay,” 

You walk together with your three full containers to where the raspberries are planted. They’re all plump and a reddish purple colour and they look so good you’re tempted to just eat more than collect. 

“..Hyunjin?” 

Hyunjin’s head flickers to yours in surprise before a warm smile creeps onto his face. It’s so warm that your own look turns bashful and you almost forget the reason you wanted his attention entirely, “Yeah, Y/N?” 

“Uh- Do you like raspberries?” 

“Raspberries? I don’t mind them. I’m more of a strawberry guy.” 

You screw your face up in a little bit of judgement and quickly turn away from him, returning to the raspberries. 

“What? What’s wrong with strawberries?” Hyunjin snorts, unable to let go of your judgement but also not offended. Not at all. Anything to get you talking. 

“It’s just a bit basic, that’s all,” You shrug, and Hyunjin’s face is a  bit more offended now but it’s cooled just as quickly as it arrives because you’ve got a teasing look on your face. 

“Right well,” Hyunjin pouts, picking up his stuff to create distance. 

“Hey!” You plead, “It’s not a bad thing!” 

“Could’ve fooled me!” 

“Hyunjin,” You whine, “Come back, I need help getting up, my legs are dead.” 

“That’s just a bit basic, Y/N, love,” He drawls, appearing like the Cheshire Cat from Alice In Wonderland. 

“Hyunjin,” You whine back. 

He laughs, dawdling back in front of you, watching you pathetically reach both your arms out towards him. His hands grip at your forearms pulling you upwards and you stumble back into him. 

“You’ve gotta stop trying this method to get me to be into you, Y/N,” He baits, not even waiting for your reply. You scoff as he turns away from you, filling his container so fast it makes your own container look pathetic. 

Feeling competitive, you speed past him, filling your own with raspberries to the tune of his laughter and later his own competitiveness to the point of overflow. 

The two of you are heaving, comparing each other’s containers with a cautious eye, decidedly agreeing that the two of them are rather equal. Though personally you suspect that your own is a little more full. 

“Woah,” Hyunjin exhales a breath of surprise, eyeing at his fingers that are a deep red and purple. You giggle, eyeing your own. The marks don’t reach further than your fingers like he does but they are a lot darker with a lot more coverage. 

You line up your fingers near his hand so he can see. 

His eyebrows furrow a little, before he rummages into his pocket to pull out his phone. You drop your hand but he pulls it back, angling the phone to a better angle. He smiles as he takes the photo and you feel a little bit like you’re the victim of a spell. 

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

“Shall we go?” Hyunjin asks and you can’t help but agree quickly, squashing the feeling inside of you so deep you disassociate for the rest of the trip home. 

When you return home, a little tired that your eyes are fluttering close even before the door closes shut, you’re surprised by how quiet the house is, save for the quiet humming of the TV. 

“Felix!” Changbin yells from the room, “Felix!” 

You pause, deciding whether you should leave him and take the nap you want to indulge in or to tell- 

With a sigh, you follow the incessant calls of Felix’s name, until you’re in front of him, “Ah-not Felix. Where is….everyone?” 

“Oh shit sorry,” Changbin apologises, “Felix was gonna drop by to his missus to drop something off-” 

You roll your eyes. 

“-And your parents go out every so often to have a little time to themselves. Keep the romance alive. Gross, I know.” 

“It’s cute actually,” You muse, too used to older people ruining each other over and over again. 

“I thought you were with Minho?” Changbin inquired, turning down the volume for the TV. 

You lean against the wall, “Why’s that?” 

“I know you said he isn’t your boyfriend but you clearly have feelings for each other,” Changbin commented further. 

You laugh, “Are all these questions because you’re watching Love Island?” 

“And if I said yes?” 

“Then I’ll just assume that you’re projecting,” You huff out a little giggle, walking off to your own room and the confines of your space. 

“Y/N!” He yells after you, but doesn’t make an effort to follow. 

“Good night!” 

You fall asleep with a soft smile on your face, no tingles but a blanket of warmth to protect you. 

The second date you were actually genuinely excited for. Hyunjin picked you up, adoringly gazing upon your smile that lit the whole sky up. 

“That’s a pretty smile,” Hyunjin comments, pushing the handbrake down. 

“I’m excited,” You reply, practically bouncing in your seat. 

“Oh really? I couldn’t tell after you practically forced me to tell you what we were doing today,” Hyunjin recalls, mind rewinding back to the night before when he had sent a cute mysterious text. 

Dark coloured pants. Dark coloured jumper. Sneakers tomorrow. Trust me x

Unfortunately for him, it didn’t stay all that cute and mysterious, because you called him. 

“I want to know,” You demanded. 

“I’m not gonna tell you,” Hyunjin snorted. 

“Tell me or I’ll come tomorrow wearing a tutu and a bright ass top,” The sound of your threat put a smile on his face. 

“You can try if you want, Y/N,” Hyunjin laughed, “Either way you’re gonna look really pretty.” 

“Hyunjin, please.” 

He swallowed, momentarily caught in surprise. Shit. 

He’s reached a new level of low. 

He’s folding THIS early? 

“Hyunjiiiiiin,” You double down, catching quick onto his dilemma. His tongue prodded into his cheek, eyebrows furrowing at his resolve completely fading at two little words. 

“Paintballing,” He blurted, “....We’re going paintballing.” 

Suddenly, there was no sound. It was quiet and he felt his blood pressure drop. Did you hate the idea of paintballing? He hoped not because he had booked it spontaneously and- 

“Really?” The question came out like a summer fruit, so good and so energetic that it made his heart flutter. 

“Yeah,” He sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose self consciously. 

“I’m gonna go pack!” 

“Okay.” 

“Bye Hyunjin. Thank you.” 

He stared at his phone for five minutes after the call ended, the smile on his face never once dropping and his excitement for the next day at an all time high.

You were bouncing with excitement all the way to the hut, and Hyunjin places both hands on your shoulders when it seemed to reach heights that distracted him from hearing the rules. 

“You’re cute,” Hyunjin muses, whispering into your ear, “But I can’t hear the rules and I’d hate to accidentally shoot you.” 

You frown, muttering, “Not if I shoot you first.” 

Hyunjin smirks, letting his hands slightly drop from your shoulders but didn’t make an effort to back away from you. Neither did you move away from him, shivering pleasantly because of the warmth he provided in the wild breeze that ventured from every corner of the paintball course. 

“You’re green team,” The instructor says, handing you over two green bands to tie around your wrist. You peer around the area scanning both friend and foe, letting Hyunjin tie them. 

“Luckily we got green and not…” You enunciate, eyeing the yellow team with an almost cruel observation. 

“You’re competitive,” Hyunjin comments, fastening the band around your wrist. You fasten him with a look, which in turn has his own smile getting wider. 

“Hey,” Another couple sidles up to you, the girl leaning in to make a comment, “I noticed one of the couples has a limp so-” 

As you both add to the observations, the guy bundles up next to Hyunjin, watching the two of you discuss tips and thoughts. 

“First time here?” 

“Hmm?” Hyunjin whips his head towards him, smiling slightly, “Yeah. I didn’t know she’d be this into it.” 

“Neither,” The guy laughs, “Now we come here every month.” 

“Woah,” Hyunjin chuckles, “I’m Hyunjin.” 

“Soobin,” The guy introduces himself, stretching his back, “How long have you been a couple?” 

“Not dating,” Hyunjin sighs, “I’m grafting for it though.” 

“Good on you,” Soobin nods, smiling at his girlfriend as she drags you into the toilet, no doubt commenting that there will be no time for bathroom breaks in the middle of a war, “Good luck out there. I suggest going to the toilet while you can.” 

Hyunjin finds himself glad at the conversation. He likes talking about you, though brief and slightly irrelevant, he can’t help but think it’s the start of something. He loves the thought that you may be into him. He loves slow progress. The everything. The way your smile has begun to get bigger and how you’ve begun to lean on him and direct him. 

He’s into it. 

He’s into you. 

The first game he gets hounded by you. Scolded for having his head in the clouds. But he’s too busy being too whipped to care. He doesn’t think you notice how protective you get of him, escorting him across the course with the mentality of a bodyguard. 

The second game, he’s still being protected. All until you’re all out of pallets and you get a taste of how much paintball actually hurts. 

“Ow, fuck,” You curse, squeezing at the flesh of your stomach, only to then be shot in the hand and face, whipping you completely away of your focus and your protective gear loosening. 

“Woah, you alright?” Hyunjin angles his body in front of the line of fire, his hand raising upwards in concern. The shots cease temporarily, their shouts undetectable but the warning clear. 

“Yeah, I’m going to get this fixed,” You wince, your fingers acknowledging the disarray of your hair, before stepping away to raise both hands in the air. 

He watches you leave carefully, before he’s alone again and the game continues. He exhales, leaning against the thick crust of the bush before taking aim. 

“I severely underestimated you,” You observe, a bit of dirt lining the edges of your face and hands. 

His lips quirk upwards, “I only had to get revenge for my girl.” 

“Hwang,” You growl, though the laugh sticks to your throat. 

“Lee.” 

“I’ll be watching you,” You girls eye the line of men that are lined up on the other side before exchanging tactics. 

“My man, he’s big and can’t hide for shit.” 

“He’s got a limp, he’ll be out first. We even had a bet on it so please aim for him.” 

“My ma- guy, he looks pathetic but don’t be fooled. He’s pretty but he’s a good shot,” You comment to the expectant eyes. The teasing eyes of Arin cannot be missed. 

“Your ma-guy,” Arin giggles to which your eyes narrow. 

“Not falling for it,” You dismiss her, feeling bashful as her giggles shake at your fortitude of protection. 

It’s all fun and by the end of it, you feel you have new friends in Soobin and Arin and a couple of the other couples. You even opt to have lunch together that day, spontaneity in your blood as you order three servings of deliciously marbled meat. 

It’s even more worth it, that although Hyunjin drops you off down the street from your house, you smile like you never have before at him, “I had fun.” 

“Me too,” He looks at you with some sort of smile that has you smacking your lips, suddenly shy. 

“Bye,” You wave at him, trailing away from the car little by little, aware that he keeps an eye on you until he knows you made it home safely. 

You open the door with a massive sigh, pausing at the smirk on Changbin’s face as you step foot through the wide passageway. 

“You look happy,” Changbin comments, biting his lip teasingly. 

With a grin still on your face, you point a finger at him, “Keep your mouth shut, Seo Changbin.” 

“I didn’t say anything,” Changbin chortles, poking a finger into your side, the same side that had been victim of continuous paint abuse. 

You wince and giggle, as if your body is confused by how it should continue. Changbin raises his eyebrow, “What was that?” 

“Nothing,” You say, jerking away from his attempt at possibly pressing on another bruise. 

Changbin nods his head in faux agreement, before he doubles down, fingers slightly pressing on each shoulder. You shy away from him, stepping backwards, Changbin cornering you. 

“What the hell?” 

The two of you whip your heads to Felix, eyes widening at the sight of Changbin backing you up against the wall. A huge misunderstanding. Truly. 

“So…you two?” 

“No it’s not like that,” You shake your head. 

“It’s really not, dude, we were just playing around,” Changbin shrugged, “She’s ticklish.”

Felix pauses, hesitates and then accepts. Then goes to tell you something with his head cocked, and you worry he’ll be stuck like that, “Pizza’s ready.” 

You hurry past the two boys, heat flushing your skin. 

“So you really aren’t?” Felix leaned into Changbin when you were gone from view. 

“No, dude,” Changbin snorted. 

Felix accepted it and found he didn’t entirely hate it. Definitely didn’t like it, but hate it? Surprisingly he didn’t. 

Food for thought.

The third date was the most typical and the type of first date you'd expect from a teenager but you liked it all the same.

You'd love it if he hadn't won the first game...

And wasn't winning now.

"Wow, okay you're really not going easy on me," You comment as he receives another spare, walking away from the lane with a wicked smile on his face that tickles at the organ in your chest.

He chuckles, "After paintball? I won't make that mistake."

Your nose crinkles in displeasure, but for a moment it makes you grin. You like what he said. You like how he said it. Everything about it.

You throw the ball, hoping luck would be on your side, but the oil and grease that coats the lanes proved stronger, the ball led straight into the gutter. Gutter of the lane and the gutter in your stomach.

Shit.

Hair tickles against your chin as the smug handsome devil leans over you, "Honestly I thought you had that."

You hurl your shoulder back in defiance, only to hear his laughter, melodious in your ear. It should be annoying, and it is, but it also feels like the most fun you've ever had.

Every morning of a bowling alley in your memories felt loaded. The earliest involves that of your loosely attached adults, many after that where you and Jeongin grappled with grief and despair and a sense to right wrongs. The memories before containing Minho....

Now...

He's the first one that doesn't matter to you. Shouldn't matter to you. You had hoped to bring Felix here first, but Hyunjin brought you here instead, a small crinkling of fate sprinkled over the two of you.

And he's here and he's completely thrashing you at a game you had self-confessed expert level skills. In your bowling home.

However, a thought runs through your head so dark and rampant, the lights could have flickered at the sheer intensity.

Creeping behind him, you place a hand on his shoulder, only removing it when he turned around with a curious yet satisfied fat grin on his face.

You enjoy it more than you should.

He freezes underneath the feel of your lips on his, reminding him of the moment a couple of weeks ago when you first kissed him like this. His eyebrows furrowing in thought, he pushes gently at your shoulders.

"Do you always kiss guys to get what you want?" His mouth opens and his tongue licks at the corner of his mouth, displeasure dancing in his irises. You love it. You can't help it. You want to poke at his emotions with a stick, like he's your own personal Frankenstein's monster.

"And if i say an answer you don't want to hear?" You smirk, lips curling deviously at the snarl transforming his face.

He scoffs out a fake laugh, "Try it."

"Okay, I ki-" You're interrupted by the way his arms snake possessively around your waist, pulling you into a bruising kiss that leaves your lips swollen and your head all over the place. Your arms hanging loosely by your sides as you come to terms with it all.

He finishes the round with a double strike and a score that almost doubles yours.

"Yet," He whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear, "I still won."

He straightens up, and you're left to watch him as he walks back to the car in which he dropped you off. You want nothing more than to wipe that look on his face, but you're also severely attracted to him at the minute and it feels dangerous.

"Are we exclusive?" He asks, tone back to the octave you could combat against. His fingers tap on the wheel of the car in a relaxed sort of way.

"Not yet," You deny him, watching to see if his face will change like it did inside or if he'd surprise you again.

But it doesn't happen.

He nods, fingers ghosting along his lips almost like he's rubbing the kiss you two shared right in your face. You narrow your eyes at him, staring at the smug look on his face.

He knows exactly what you're thinking of.

Where you're looking.

"I'll see you next time then, Y/N."

His hands are strong, but the way he holds your face is gentle, a contrast to the intensity of his kiss. You follow the best you can, his mouth drawing out the most pathetic whimpers from your throat.

His touch follows down the length of you arm, goosebumps spreading throughout your entire body that you feel like you're floating. He grounds you, placing his hand onto the flesh of your thigh and letting his lips and tongue paint you in tingles.

His frame slots in between your legs, the warmth of his body sending a shock straight to your core.

You're hungry for him.

Always.

But there's an incessant knock on the back of your head, your subconscious persistent.

"What's wrong?" You whisper, lips plump.

He doesn't say anything, breath heaving and body tensing in a way that implies that he heard you. That he doesn't feel comfortable. He licks at his lips and the change in him has you concerned. You cup his face with your hand, watching as he leans into your touch, basking in you.

"Minho," You call, now slightly worried. His eyes open and your heart softens. He's so beautiful.

He presses forward to capture you in a kiss again, eyes closing unconsciously as he pours every bit of passion from his heart into you. You kiss back as you feel your heart open to swallow him whole, thoughts forgotten at the familiarity.

Arousal pools in your underwear as he hands travel lower, gripping at your shirt to pull you closer. His body strong against you. Your hands collect in his hair, soft strands that you swear felt different-

You frown, rising to meet his pace with your own, willing to squash the thought and indulge fully in Minho. With a lewd smack, his mouth dips towards your exposed throat, sucking at the skin. A particularly bruising suck, and then he rips at your shirt with a quick promise to buy you a replacement, but you don’t care. 

Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his lips gravitating towards your chest, dipping down the valleys and small freckles you didn’t even know existed. With a shaky inhale, “Minho.” 

He pauses, left hand dug deep into the fabric of your clothes and the right hand twisting at the waistband of your underwear, desperate. 

It worries you as much as it does lick at your sex drive. 

His desperation. 

You want it. 

Minho’s eyes flicker upwards to meet yours in an intense stare. Biting at his lips, he straightens his posture, form looming over yours with barely restrained tension, “Jeongin…he’s never gonna be what he should….” 

His words and his eyes, they all feel so heavy all of a sudden, drooping from your heart like a fat teardrop. 

“But you-” He swallows, “You’re the only thing I’m sure of.” 

Your stare implores into his eyes, glazed with feeling and you’re the one to kiss him first. Soft and  sweet, until it isn’t and it’s just as hungry as it was before. This time, only more loaded. 

Everything is a team effort. 

You rip at his shirt as you try to remove it from his upper body, revealing a strong chest and a stomach that calls to be marked up by your nails and your lips and your arousal. His arms envelop you and your moan is guttural as your hands slip around his shoulder blade and feel his muscle thrum underneath your touch, his skin raising in anticipation. 

You lift your waist as he peels your underwear from your body, legs locking impatiently to which he has to hold down at your hungry waist. 

His eyes are the danger to your hunger, promising to feed you with his cock and growling at the way he slips past your swollen lips and down your aching throat. You suck him until his eyes start to droop and you wouldn’t have stopped. You didn’t want to. But he wanted a different story. 

He kisses at your pussy, admiring how it glistens with every lick and suck. Every kiss. How your thighs start to shake as he groans into your core, tongue fucking you just to see how unsettled you get. 

You’re wild, nameless and unashamed. Begging for him like a bitch in heat.

“Put it in,” You hear pleading, it’s you but it doesn’t feel like you. 

“I could,” Minho nods, “Or I do what I want.” 

His fingers sink into your pussy, almost moaning at how warm and wet you are. You moan, “Min-fuck.” 

He grins now, his lips latching onto your clit in order to bring you to orgasm. You tremble underneath his order, hips jerking uncontrollably at your orgasm. You’re moaning and whining and every word is now replaced with curse words. 

“Oh,” You cry as he brings you to climax, fireworks exploding and colours you can’t name attacking you like thunder, “Min….” 

With a final kiss he separates from you, watching your chest heave and attempt to return to normal. Skin blotchy with varying degrees of delicious heat across your legs and chest, looping around your heart and your ears. 

You smile and are rewarded by the type of sparkly grin only he can wear, mischief playing games in his dark brown pupils. 

He is beautiful and he is love. 

“Min-fuck, huh?” He chuckles to which you can’t help but attempt to bring him closer, wanting to feel his warmth. 

“You should legally change it,” You playfully suggest and you love that his laugh trinkles all parts of you, as if your body is wired to him. 

“Should I now?” He smiles, finger pointing playfully into your naked exposed chest, grin widening as you giggle in reply. You love it. 

You hate it when you can see the eventual grin fade into the hooded look that terrified you earlier. It terrifies you even more when he closes his eyes so you can’t see it. 

“Min-” 

“You ready to go again?” Minho looks at you, soft in the eyes but tense everywhere else. 

You nod, letting his hands squeeze at your thighs, head tilting as he runs the tip of his cock along the thick paste of the highs he can take you to, body welcoming the familiar fullness as he sinks into you, thrusting experimentally. 

You whine, opening your legs wider to encourage him to take his own pleasure from you. But he doesn’t need it, not when he fucks you like he owns you and controls the rate of your pleasure. 

He thrusts forward, meeting your hips and mouth dropping in focus, breathing heavy as skin slaps against skin. 

You make eye contact with him, the connection between you a neon blue. Without a word, he buries his face into your neck and his cock into your core. Dragging you closer to the high once again, your pussy sopping. 

As you both are brought closer to orgasm, your bodies start to move in a frenzy, the decorum dropping as the both of you become more and more starved. His fingers curl into your hair harshly, simultaneously thrusting and rubbing against your clit. 

You come with a moan, followed three seconds later by the stutter of his hips and his sharp exhale. He’s hungry as he kisses you, unrecognisable as he devours you into a kiss that leaves you dumb, kissing as you both come down from your high. 

He sleeps beside you that night and you huddle to seek his warmth. Seek Minho. Escape the outside world like you have done so many times before. Feeling his love and your love. Your proper love. Feeling it in this room and despairingly begging not to feel it anywhere else.  

The face you see isn’t the one you’ve seen all week, but the one who has yearned to see you. That had passed on a girl trying to get in his pants last week and had aired a constant fuck without your knowledge. 

The car you see is also a new one. You pause, open mouthed as you study the sleek sports car in front of you, not being able to name it but appreciating it all the same. 

“Is this your car?” 

Hyunjin shakes his head, admitting with buried shame, “No.” 

“Then why are you in it?” You laugh, your eyes on him now, studying him like he’s some sort of enigma. 

“It’s not like I’m trying to date you or anything….” He bites his lip, staring at you with a look that flusters you to your core. 

His eyes don’t sparkle like you’re expecting, but they’re lined with something alluring and pull you in with promises that ring in your ears. Sharp in places that are soft, and soft in places that are sharp. A freckle in a place that’s new. 

He smiles, letting it grow as he puts the car into drive, following the road with his heart fluttering at an uncontrollable level. 

“So what are we doing today?” You ask when you just can’t handle his smile any longer. 

He peeks at the console in between you, pressing the button to reveal a single cardboard cut card. You raise an eyebrow, reaching greedily for it. You catch yourself, eyeing at the cute little drawing at the start. 

“Did you draw this?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You’re talented,” You smile at him before flicking the card over to read the contents, “Mini scavenger hunt must do ... .date is not over until all is completed. Sounds a bit…trappy.”

“Baby, my forte is sketching not writing,” He sasses, turning the steering wheel left, “Read on.” 

“Must pose in these four positions for a photo ... Try a food the colour of our outfits,” You peek at the abundance of green you’re wearing and his red jacket, “Oh thank god. Buy a present for each other….” 

Hyunjin watches as you read each sentence carefully, devising a game plan already, “Do you wanna do the photobooth first and finish with the present?” 

At the first instance that your face changes, he rushes to add, “There’s no timer or anything. It’s just a date between us two.. No secret other teams you need to worry about.” 

You kiss your teeth in displeasure, shoving at him with your hand lightly, “I wasn’t thinking that!” 

Hyunjin raises his eyebrows in defiance, “Mmm sure.” 

You pout, letting him lead you to the main collection of stores and cute little date stops, he holds your hand quick in comparison to the way your eyes dance between the little cute headbands and soft plushies at the wake of the photobooths. 

The photobooth is a lot more comfier than expected, tight enough you can feel the details of Hyunjin’s arms through the fabric of his blouse and the way his heart bleats in his chest. You school your face enough that Hyunjin won’t be able to tell it flusters you, to have him this close. 

But he’s not playing fair, because when his large hands wrap you within his hold and his chin rests on the crown of your head, it’s an embrace you associate with someone else. An embrace you associate with love and the fear overruns you. 

Hyunjin is beautiful. His lips are plush and always have you begging for them almost. An unseen power you’ve never felt before. Even with Minho. But Minho is also someone you can’t really have, morally, socially… 

Hyunjin is a game. You know that, and yet you don’t want to separate from him. It’s easy to be with him. Too easy. So easy you forget about Felix for more than one moment. You forget about Minho. 

You’re a girl with a boy that can. Can do all the things he’s doing with you. Who could probably kiss the shit out of you in this photo booth and take off running with the evidence. Could show Felix, and it wouldn’t be the same. 

So you let Hwang Hyunjin hold you. 

Hold you like he’s in love. 

Hold you like you’re in love. 

And perhaps a part of you is… in love with him, that is. Or in love with the feeling, all the more, you took those photos with new heat in your cheeks and enjoyment in the way your skin skimmed against his with every movement. The way his throat bobbed and his voice made the hair on the back of your neck shift. How the bones stiffened and rewired themselves to fit his frame against your back. 

He leads you through the mall, the abundance of the throng becoming more prominent as you get closer to the food court. A shoulder almost barging into you within a second, Hyunjin too occupied with his own obstacle to catch it early enough. 

“Woah,” He mutters, glaring at the harsh pull of someone barging into you a second time, “The fuck.” 

He’s half a second away from digging the jewel of his expensive ring into the dude’s gut with a thick slab of burning lava to embalm the pain when you pull him away from his anger. A coolness washing over him as you pull him closer to you. You wrap yourself around him like he’s your protector and it’s so cute. 

Too much, you’re too much. 

“Can we eat in the car?” You plead so quietly that Hyunjin almost misses what you say. But he agrees wordlessly as his eyes flick across every option for what looks the best or what has the smallest line. 

“What do you want? I can get it and you can go to the car if you want?” Hyunjin offers. 

You shake your head, digging further into his body and he almost forgets he’s in the middle of foot traffic, “Let’s get whatever.” 

He nods, pulling you towards a small snack shack in the corner run by a kind elderly woman and her middle-aged son. The pair greet you warmly and it instantly has you a lot calmer than the rest of the food court. Hyunjin is grateful as he orders, the son has you in a polite but distracting conversation and he gets to hold your hand whilst he does it. 

“I hope you get married!” The elderly woman cheers at the pair of you as soon as Hyunjin orders, her grin wide and toothy. 

“Mum! I’m so sorry!” Her son warns, before he apologetically smiles, “Sorry she’s a little traditional and nosy.” 

Hyunjin is a little flustered, eyes wide open but quick to play along, leaning forward, “Only time will tell, Halmeoni.” 

The lady’s mouth rounds into a teasing ‘O’ and he loves the way your expression drops in complete surprise, tripping over yourself as he leads the two of you away once again, “You’re insane.” 

“I’m aiming for exclusivity, baby, get used to it.” 

Even you can’t control the smirk that crosses your face at the teasing snark. 

You instantly let out a sigh as you sit in the quiet and calm car, the only noise being Hyunjin’s door as he closes it, enveloping the two of you in a world of brown paper bags filled with greasy salty and sweet snacks and a spicy bowl of tteokbokki. 

Hyunjin snorts, holding up the sad excuse of two baby toothpicks and one set of chopsticks, “I think that lady was really trying to raise the marriage rates.” 

“She wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been egging her on,” You assert, tone lowering in a faux sense of righteousness. 

“You had every opportunity to let go of my hand and you didn’t,” Hyunjin sassed, frowning as his mouth opened to let some of the good food in. 

“How did you even come up with the photobooth idea and the- wait, we didn't get anything green!” You grumble, looking at the lack of green with the severity of homicide. 

“We got something red, it’s fine,” Hyunjin laughs. 

“No but the note said-” 

“Forget the note, okay? It was a little fun and it was just an idea that I got from someone,” Hyunjin shrugs. 

“Oh who?” You cock your head. 

“Felix’s girlfriend,” Hyunjin adds, dipping the toothpick into another tteok greedily, missing the way your expression slightly changes for a fraction of a second. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Asked her for some ideas and she was so nosy about it too, asked if she knew you,” Hyunjin chewed, and pettily you made a note that he didn’t eat so pretty, “I said it was none of her business and she had a go at me.” 

“Had a go at you?” 

“Yeah,” Hyunjin nods, “I apologised, obviously.” 

You nod, silence filling the gap between you to a timescape that exceeds comfort. But Hyunjin, a dumb boy, of course suspects anything but the reason to be the problem. 

“If it bothers you so much I can go get something green,” Hyunjin offers, reading your face all wrong. 

You shake your head, unruly thoughts running amok between the two of you. The three of you. 

“Let’s just do the next one, what is it?” 

“Presents for each other.” 

You let it distract you and it does have a reasonable impact. You slowly but surely forget about what had transpired in the car. You had played with the idea of buying him something you’re pretty sure everybody likes generally but you couldn’t let the tin of water colour pencils out of your head. 

You picked it up, thumbing at the dips of the letters and the raised darkened lines that surround them, mouth puckered in thought. 

Sighing, you let the tin fall into the basket, buying the pencils with only a polite smile but overall a terrible mood. 

You sit at the meeting area first, mood sporadically increasing and decreasing in positivity all throughout, waiting for him to come meet you with a straight face, peering at the pencils indifferently. 

Indifferently. 

Easier said, harder to do when the guy you’re mad at with no right to, confidently strolls to meet you with a smile that lights up the world. So bright and kind and everything, you forget the reason you’re mad at him. He holds up the bag with a grin, and you hold back your bag. 

Surprisingly, when he sees you he can’t control his excitement, cupping your face in an attempt to withhold it, “Now…” 

You raise an eyebrow, “Now?” 

He furrows his eyebrows but his grin is too wide to hold any guilt, “I didn’t just buy it, okay. I thought about it. Carefully.” 

“What?” 

He pulls his bag around his frame, pulling the contents out in front of you, your eyes widening at the fucking camera he holds in front of you, “Woah, Hyunjin, huh? huh?” 

He smiles even wider than you thought was possible, his first impression completely dissipating the brighter it gets. 

“Hyunjin, I can’t- I can’t accept this,” You shake your head, making no attempts to grab it. 

“I told you, I picked it out carefully. You’ve got an eye for it but if you don’t want it you can give it to someone el-” 

“No but,” You dig your hands in your own bag to pull out the tin, “I brought you pencils… I even thought they were too expensive.” 

“And I love them,” Hyunjin fondly smiles at you, “Thank you.” 

So fucking sweet about it. 

“Here, you keep them both,” You decide, placing them back into your bag and holding them out to him. He reaches forward, picking at the present you got him, speeding into a fast walk and abandoning the expensive ass camera and its bag on the ground. 

“Hyunjin!” You exclaim, voice reaching a new octave you’ve never reached ever in your life. 

“Sorry, can’t hear you, if you don’t want it, just leave it there, I guess someone will accept my gift!”

“Hyunjin!”

Jeongin looks nothing like them, and you’re glad that the only thing you have left from that time of your life, the only thing you ever wanted from them is not tainted. He's lost a bit of weight in his face, and his features are a lot sharper than a couple of months ago. But he’s healthy. So incredibly healthy.

He’s smiling. 

Like he’s your baby again. 

“Noona,” His tone has a curl in it now, throaty in a way that puberty is caring for it by playing with it, nothing like the high tone he carried before, “I can’t accept this.” 

You smile, the similarities between you are bittersweet, “You can.” 

“I can’t. This looks expensive,” He observes, holding up the camera box to his eye level. 

“Don’t worry about that,” You huff, “It was a present.” 

“From Minho?” He asks, head tilting and you’re a little sad by it. 

“No.” 

He frowns, concern flashing in his eyes in a way it shouldn’t at seventeen, but one you’ve seen too many times from him to count, “You’re not doing anything stupid, are you noona?” 

“No,” You laugh, a cry caught in your cheeks, “No, I’m okay.” 

“Are you?” 

“Yes, Jeongin,” You laugh, “Ahh, look at you being all responsible for your older sister.” 

“You can’t stop me. You’re my sister, Y/N. Mine.” 

With tears in his eyes, you can’t help but join in, dragging him into your embrace, letting your whole body soak up the shit the two of you have gone through together. 

“Absolutely. Think about it as additions, Innie. Your parents. My parents. Felix…..Minho.” 

“But Minho-” 

“But nothing, they were the best fit for you, and I rather you be with people I know that are better than anywhere else.” 

“Well what about you?” He splutters, “How do you think I feel knowing you’re somewhere else? Why can’t we be together and you and Minho hyung can be-” 

Your face crumbles, your hands falling into his hair affectionately, “Because I know how much you love them and how much it would’ve hurt to leave them.” 

“But you were hurt as well-” 

“I know,” You nod, “But this is just the way it is now and my parents? They’re good people. Felix as well. You would like him.” 

“Felix.” 

“Felix.” 

“....Is he better than me?” 

“No. And you aren’t better than him either, Mister. But he’s my brother and yours too, if you like.” 

The sentence hangs between you like a bad smell. 

“No,” He shakes his head, “He’s just your brother and Minho is just mine.” 

“Jeongin…” 

“You love Minho,” His eyes implore into yours, holding your hands with a tight but not hurtful grip. There’s love in his hands and it’s a love you can trust. 

“I do….don’t I?” 

And the confusion on his face, breaks you all the same.

Hyunjin plated the pasta plentifully, generous with the serving. The mouth watering scent of garlic and oil with a hint of chilli and a bit of cheese for the cheese pull you'll be competing with him over later wafting throughout the room.

"I'll go put on a movie," You had said, leaving to choose a good movie from his collection of DVDs, humming thoughtfully and pleasantly.

Hyunjin seasons the pasta with a bit of salt and pepper, t after you with the pasta and smiling at the proud display in front of him.

While he had cooked, you were in charge of the table. You had put a spoon to twirl the pasta in and good fork and knives. You even found candles and an uneven number of red napkins.

The two of you sit across from each other, distracted by the conversation.

It's hard to say what you were talking about.

Neither of you can really remember. But you enjoyed it. You both did. You even talk a lot when you finish the meal, waiting for him to finish.

"There's a lot of chick flicks on the top of your DVD collection?" You trail off purposely.

"Ah, Felix's girlfriend. A couple of other girls. They like them and I enjoy them," He shrugs, "No big deal.'

"Oh," You nod, slightly quiet now before rising from your seat to start the clean up. Hyunjin, belatedly realising why and wanting to punch himself, "The girls or the movies?"

"The movies," Hyunjin pouts.

"Not both?" You sound jealous and petty and definitely not the girl you're supposed to be around him.

Hyunjin watches you with an open mouth, eyebrows furrowing when you wordlessly start to fill the wash basin with soapy detergent water. He stalks towards you with his mouth in a thin line, turning off the tap with a decisive motion.

You turn to him with your mouth all flat and your face all wrong.

"Hey," He says seriously, his hands cupping your face and he's so warm and gentle, "I'm really serious about you."

His thumbs circle the roundness of your cheeks, watching to see you realise how serious he is about you. Not just hearing him say it, but also understanding that whatever had happened with any girl before, happened. But that's over.

He's only interested in you now.

You leans forward to kiss you, his lips cushioning yours with a tinge of sweetness. Not being able to resist it, you squeeze at the fabric of his waist, bringing his body to you a little closer.

It's familiar. But it's not.

It could feel a little better than...

He pulls away, the two of you in some sort of daze. He smiles, his nose brushing and rubbing against yours almost playfully, letting himself giggle at how lame he is.

"You're cute jealous"

"I'm cuter when you're not flirting with my brother's girlfriend," You scowl, instantly pissed.

"I'm not," Hyunjin rolled his eyes, the two of you no longer wrapped up in some puppy loved up spell, now replaced with something darker.

"Hyunjin."

Hyunjin smiles, his tongue in the roof of his mouth, mimicking, "Hyunjin."

Your eyes zero in on his lips, swallowing at the way he traps you. His looming presence making your lower body crave him. You close your mouth, worried that anything you say may be paired with an unhealthy amount of drool.

"Jin-"

"You gonna give me a warning?” He raises his eyebrows, "Give me a warning. I obviously need it."

"Hyunjin," You growl.

He growls back with his gut, sounding a little too close to a moan. But he doesn't feel embarrassed, no. Something in him wants you to act on your jealousy and act in a way that'll have him buckle at the knee.

"Give it to me, baby," He croons.

You scowl, your hand wrapping around his neck. At his wince, you pull back, the cloud between you both dissolving.

He tsks disappointedly, a hand slipping to the nape of your neck and bringing you forward so you're right against his frame, "Maybe you just feel guilty."

"What would I feel guilty about?" You challenge, snorting. Head angled upwards to meet his eye.

"Because you know you have no room to stand on being jealous," Hyunjin tilts his head, "Yeah, I had girls before. But they're not here now, are they?"

"No?"

"No," He enunciates into your ear, just so you can hear him. Hear there's no hesitation. Hear there's no ounce of lie in what he's saying. Feel that he wants you, "No girls here. Ever. Felix's girlfriend included. That's your brother's girl. Not mine. Not now, not then, not ever.”

You don't say anything, hearing him hiss into your ear, his words and his voice heading straight to your core. The smell of his perfume spicy and so red. You can feel his heartbeat on your back, along your shoulders and wrapped in his arms, a heat.

A kind of heat that makes you uncontrollably charged, waiting for the perfect timing to attack.

"Understand?" He meets your eyes, blown the fuck out and he charges forward claiming your lips.

The scent he's wearing isn't just spice but the kind of musk that sets forth every kind of movement you're taking.

You feel at the way he traps your wrists with his tight grip against the bench, a slight hiss of pain against the waist of your back, soothed by the way his lips fall to your neck and fall down to your shoulders.

You push back, unable to withhold the need to lead him into the living room, the sexy sleek couch from your memory impossible to ignore.

He doesn't care.

Too enthralled by the way you taste under his tongue, the way your body moulds underneath his large hands like putty. The way control feels when you have it.

You kiss, a flurry of sounds that sound delicious and dirty and full of flesh.

He falls backwards, righting himself slightly as you slide over him, kissing him all over again. He uses his hands to pull your face closer to his, your tongues moving languidly before his hands fall to your waist, grinding your body against his.

You whine into the kiss, and he does it again, feeling your resolve crumble at the feeling of his hardening clothed cock against your pussy. The friction just right.

He lifts his pelvis upwards into your core, feeling the way you melt onto his body, letting yourself feel good. He's hard against your soft, and you wonder whether he can feel just how wet you are.

You plant your knees into the couch, rubbing yourself on him, feeling twitchy at the pleasure.

You mewl, listening to the way he grunts, holding your ass into him tightly, helping you slide against him.

Even through the layers of clothes the two of you are wearing, he makes you feel so good.

You make him feel so good.

The thought makes you scream, and whine and a rush of sounds that Hyunjin will commit to memory for the rest of his life.

He comes first, a slight grunt and groan escaping his mouth and his nails digging into the fabric of pants desperately, wanting to tear into it further with his teeth.

You follow after him, grinding desperately until you tighten your thighs around his frame.

"You're so cute coming like this," He comments with a tired smile, watching as you desperately chase after your orgasm as if it will run away from you.

Your core meets his pelvis harder and harder. Tightening and thrusting against him. He winces, overstimulated and throws his head back before his hands grip at your ass, helping you see the finale. Colours spill out of the two of you, rendering you blind and you have to rely on your muscle memory to find his mouth again.

You're kissing him the best you can, messily moving your lips against each other until the cloud that left you all hazy falls away completely.

He's beautiful, beads of sweat decorating his forehead and slicked in his hair. Eyes half lidded and ridden with the promise of sex and lust. Mouth swollen, pink and stamped with claim. Face pretty with your finger prints.

Skin deliciously begging to be decorated with your marks.

Kisses. Bites. Sucks.

The possibilities are endless.

Another cloud looms over you, darkly watching him like he's your prey. Dangerously waiting for the moment to pounce.

And he's nothing but a willing participant, teasing you with that sexy smirk of his.

You slide off him, lowering yourself off the couch and leaving a wet patch on his pants that has him momentarily captured, his hand falls into it to inspect it, circling his finger into the mess he made of you before tasting it.

It's when he feels you squeeze around the fabric of his pants by his waist, belt buckle clinking with the movement. You pause, staring at him, holding his attention and keeping it there just for a moment.

He exhales through his nose, feeling himself harden all over again. You're relentless, eyes swimming with lust, cloth bunched underneath your palm, ignoring his growing cock and taking his eyes as your own. He bites down of his lip restlessly.

You take pity on him, brazenly removing his pants and underwear from his waist all the way down to his calf at once. Instantly wrapping your hand around his shaft experimentally. You open your mouth to speak.

He swallows, waiting for you to speak the words you test within your mouth before you say them.

It's a game that he struggles in.

Every time you open your mouth, his focus has to be called upon. Analytically focused. Because as soon as he gets distracted, he's taken. Like a siren. Watching the way your lips form letters, and he's particularly drawn to the way you form the letters 'L', 'O' and 'U' specifically. How they would feel in the back of your throat with his cock in your mouth.

"You're mine now," You whisper, "Right?"

He inhales sharply, letting out a crass laugh, "Have been since you first kissed me-"

His smile is pretty, but the way it crumples is prettier. His eyes roll back at the feeling of your warm wet mouth around the tip of his cock, and the drag of your lips down his shaft all the way until he can feel those letters in the back of your throat.

He groans, loud and uncontrolled. Unable to help himself, his hands wrap around your head pushing you deeper. Feeling your breathing constrict slightly before he loosens his hold, letting oxygen rush back into your lungs as you lean back, cock removed with a pop.

"Naughty," You comment, hand wrapping tightly around him as punishment.

“Not gentle,” He corrects you, wincing at the stimulation shortly after, “Tried to warn yo- fuck."

If your kisses were dirty before, they're absolutely hellish now. The way your mouth fits on him, sucks at him. Feeling your cheeks hollow and his body twitch. Your tongue running across the nerves like some track athlete and feeling all control slip out of him.

He's a frantic mess trapped inside a frozen body that tenses, and exhales pleasure through tightly closed lips wanting to hear the way you gag around him.

He moans again, hands pulling at your hair to make a makeshift ponytail, watching the saliva dribble down your chin and then the way your eyes are cross faded.

Gorgeous.

"I'm going to come," He warns, pulling at the hold he has of you attempting to pull you off his cock to no success. You stay firmly where you are, breathing through your nose with a strong inhale and slow exhale.

He tenses and then you feel it, the thick spurts of cum that no doubt decorate that entirety of your insides by the end of the night will play in his head like no other. His mental wellbeing at risk.

You pull away with a massive grin on your face, wiping at your mouth like you've won the lottery and straddling his lap again, returning to your perch on top of him.

"You're crazy," Hyunjin chortles, thumb rubbing against your cheek fondly, and your lungs fill with pride.

His tongue dances around his cheek in thought, tapping at your skin and rubbing at your thigh, moving only if you give him a look. Voice out your wants and your needs to him like he needs you to.

He'll return the favour.

"If you want something, ask," You whisper, your tone innocent but the way you look at him at war with that image. The implication underneath the surface, preying on him, "Hmm?"

He likes to follow your words and he follows them unconsciously abiding.

"I want to lick the shit out of your pussy," He murmurs, in a trance. Mouth watering at the invitation that is sealed within your lips and hidden underneath cloth.

"Lick the shit out of my pussy?" You giggle.

"Yeah."

"How?" You muse, tilting your head, "Do you know where the clit is, baby?"

"You know I do," He growls back in challenge, teeth gritted at the idea. He knows you're winding him up but he plays into it.

"You want to prove it to me?" You smile, eyes lingering on his mouth.

"Absolutely."

No hesitation.

"You didn't answer my question before," You comment instead, purposely keeping your eyes trained on the wall behind him, "How will you lick the shit out of my pussy?"

"It's an answer that doesn't involve as many words as you're thinking..." Hyunjin smiles, "Just actions."

You like that answer.

You like it a lot.

Your pussy craves it, in fact.

"Let me show how I'll ruin other men for you," Hyunjin provokes in a daring manner and your mind briefly flashes before it returns to the moment.

"I hope not," You mutter under your breath, pausing to wait for any inclination that Hyunjin heard it. But all there is him correcting himself.

He looks at you then. With his eyes glittering like they're yours and mouth all claimed with bites and kisses. Possessiveness like a trap that hooks you in like a fatal flaw.

"Okay."

He doesn't smile, sliding himself out from underneath you, and your legs spread naturally open to accomodate him. Your eyes flutter shut briefly at the feeling of his soft hair tickling the skin of your inner thigh.

He kisses there.

Everywhere.

Below your navel, the ends of his hair reaching underneath your tits. The feeling filling you with sky blue air and mountain clouds, only to be grounded with the assertive kiss on your mound.

The force of pleasure from your core reaching out to him like old lovers.

His head is in between your thighs and he doesn't hold back. He's kissing you, moaning into you. Whining and the sounds he makes covers the sound of your squirming.

He clasps down on your thighs so hard they'll bruise the next morning, but for now all you can focus on is how easy he's making you come purely with his mouth.

He alternates between licking and sucking at your clit, the nerves surely spent but hungry in their need to be stimulated by him. You bunch his hair underneath your fist, feeling the power that people boast about online.

And then his tongue is in you. Thrusting in and out of you and you can see his whole body is involved in your pleasure.

It's the first time you've ever experienced it.

Tongue buried in your core like this. Wriggling around in there. It's not like cock, pleasurable but predictable. You know what that feels like.

You thought you knew what a tongue could do.

How a tongue could do.

But you realise quickly you don't, because Hyunjin's tongue makes you come in a minute and Hyunjin's tongue doesn't waste a single fucking moment to not only taste you, but to swallow you like you did him.

He pulls away, face covered in you and he's an absolute mess, you want to do things to him.

"Fuck you," You snarl, kissing him immediately. He tastes like you and you taste like him, the both of you mix together with your tongues and you can't find anything in you to dislike it.

Or pretend.

He kisses you harshly back, pulling at his pants hurriedly and you rush to remove your top and your bra from your body, his hand quickly replacing it.

You moan, loving the feeling of his hand. Sometimes his grip is soft and other times it's a bit harder, especially when he grounds against you, no longer restricted by clothing.

You lift your leg, as he lines himself up at your entrance, all to then watch as he sinks himself into you.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Holy fuck.

Oh.

"Oh fuck," You breathe, feeling the delicious burn as his cock slowly drags along your walls. He feels so fucking good inside of you. More so than last time.

You don't know what changed.

Where you make all these curses of pleasure, Hyunjin is trying not to come on the spot. Your walls are warm and wet, swallowing him like your mouth but even better. Your words are in his ear and he thinks that maybe if he got you pregnant-

"You're so fucking good," Hyunjin hisses, hand grabbing desperately at your face now, clumsily grappling for a grip that won't hurt you but add to the pleasure the two of you are experiencing at this moment.

"Move, Hyunjin," You command and he's so good at following orders...

He thrusts into you, letting your moans fuel his fire. Letting the rivers of his heart fill with you, his brain changing its way for you with every single drive of his hips. Every time his skin slaps against yours, your hands in a stupor tensing and morphing in what he believes is art.

You're art.

His tongue prods at his cheek, art is something he hasn't thought about in a long time.

But you-

You.

He can't help but stare at you, the tears welling in your eyes and he focuses on that one angle. The one where your mouth drops, your throat exposed to him and a scream choked.

He snaps his hips, over and over again.

Feeling himself get to that moment too.

He really thinks this is love. And it should scare him, but it doesn't because he's never been more sure.

Art. You. The two aren't very separate, art is you. You are art. Hyunjin comes with you and when you look at him with eyes like you do, a softness. A reflection. Soul.

Poetry in a glance.

And yet when you speak, it's not so poetic, "I actually did want to watch the movie."

You cuddle into him, hair all static and messy. Threaded and dented with his fingers. Restarting the movie at once.

But he can't stop thinking about the poetry.

About the love.

His love.

It's you.

author's note : my my i have finally updated this bad boy and sorry it still took awhile. it's so long and editing was difficult so i apologise if there's mistakes, i'm just happy to finish. i hope you enjoyed it and it doesn't suck, i also hope it answered a few questions you might've had. this chapter was also supposed to be a lot longer but i decided that i wanted to upload a lot sooner and quite frankly the word count would've crashed my computer. so this insight chapter will get a part two <3 so hope you stick around for that.

[forgotten-contract]

voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

At this point, she didn't care about neither privacy nor comfort. As appreciative as she was for his assurances, he had already seen more from her than she was willing to share with anyone else. Bared her raw emotions to a complete stranger, all for the offer of the drink of knowledge to sate her greed. He knew more about her sorrows than the one other person she considered trustworthy. At the very least, she owed him an explanation, but only if he would ask it of her. "A promise...you shouldn't...have to make..." She breathed. Enough of her voice had returned to give her whispers a little more volume.

Her struggling form shivered and shook, quaking with each heralding step on pins of empty nerves, muscles of those clawed hands twitching with involuntary effort as each second onward seemed as graceful as a rueful beast scrabbling out of quicksand, the ball and chain of mortality twinging each taut thread of functionality that threatened to snap on an fettered whim.

Strong willed, stubborn, and beautiful in the way she denied even the concept of assistance. It was not an option despite how much the fur of her body shivered, or how her tail swayed with a stilted tick tock tick in the fragility of some false center of balance, each arc of her foot reverberating an echo as discomfort visibly spun through her jilted steps. It wasn’t easy and that was speaking lightly.

The man offered no help, only stepping into the next room to allow his guest the space to make it herself. Slowly his guard had begun to return despite the measure of ‘kindness’ that was to be had within the open bath.

Actions he could fake, the means to an end, no more connection to a history she need not learn.

Once more that coffin closed on the lies of the dead.

The room itself was as fairly ornate as any other aspect of the manor, with a trio of arched windows within the second floor being the majority of the light source in the morning he had no need for the licking flames of candles; the bath itself was a large marble construction, a raised platform of the same, a basin of white stone meticulous in its original creation. A small table at its side with a few soaps, brushes and towels of various colors - things that looked far too normal for the gore that waited in the shadows.

A few chairs lingered to one side, and slatted doors that looked like a wardrobe and a desk in a small alcove that seemed to have been built into a natural curve of the estate that connected to the other amenities expected of the room that didn’t fit their needs at the moment, all across from the walled counter that housed flourished mirrors.

It was all very… clean.

But not sterile, the scent of flowers wafting on the air as if in combat with the stagnant iron his poor guest dragged into the room on caked filth, soon the fragrance - while not overwhelming to the senses even as heightened as her own - began to give a dreamlike disconnection from the torment that had happened in nary a bell of time.

Hands clasped behind his back in that well known habit, Silvaire ignored the footprints he left as he moved to that raised tub to begin adjusting the faucets for a comfortable temperature. Folding his sleeve up on habit to avoid the water he listened to the crumpled form of the young woman as she collapsed into the room, sparing half a glance to her as she spoke before returning to the task; though he wasn’t mortal, there was nothing better than relaxation in soothing warmth, even he had to admit to that.

A chuff of mirth escaped as her whispers were almost lost beneath the gentle waterfall, the heat leveled perfect soon enough as the man responded. “I suppose it is a bit late for that, isn’t it.”

Snake-like eyes turned to her, watching for a heartbeat as she struggled beneath the weight of her own body, the soaked clothes no doubt adding more to the chains, those sharp teeth clenched with a fury reserved only to those who condemned themselves. He could recognize that.

Just as he could recognize that in her current state she wouldn’t be able to even begin healing. Though the only major wound came from those precious horns, her own claws had scraped and tore at her skin and garments to make a difference. So bringing the water to her for the single aspect wasn’t much of an option.

He’d not put this much work into a contract in years.

Just the flurry of questions that wanted for answers though seemed to add to the fine print of his enjoyment however, so the complaint was quieted for that reason alone.

“I will then, at least give you warning Cyra, I’ll be moving you to the water.” The short memory of how he had carried her in her sleep returned and it was with a stiled swallow that he knew he could do the same again. Push came to shove after all.

Obviously with her hissing instinct to the idea they were of one mind in that regard, the thrashing of that matted tail a very visible warning of her disagreement to the offer, but it was a weak movement that told him all the more that it wasn’t a choice for either of them. Even if she dragged herself head first to submerge, she would likely waste all her collected strength to break the surface of the water.

He’d break the contract if she didn’t finish her ordeal to the fullest. That was all.

Standing above her for a moment he hesitated, not due to the frail warnings, but his own hurdles that were quickly locked away within the excuse of ‘A means to an end’ and his hands drifted under her small body with ease - slow to move as if her skin were iron hot, trying to overcome the knowledge of the incoming pain of searing flesh as his fingers grazed the bare skin of her fur.

In an instant he recoiled as the flashes of something invaded his senses. Violation of a memories that were not his own, violations of the body before him, agony writ in skin and bone; a history unspoken, ghosts unseen.

Silvaire said nothing on it. Blinking quickly through the emotion that wrote atop his own - familiar feelings, recognized and once thought maimed to silence - his eyes met those shivering stars before looking away once more. It was no look of judgment, nor was it one of surprise, the scars and habits that he had noticed of his guest thus far made such a past well assumed.

The loathing of a nation that once owned him was seared into her soul, malice and anger attached to any notion of pain she had been raised to understand. These two things were one and the same, even now the man who tried to distance himself time and time again found new facts of this Keeper that continued to ply into his own self imprisonment.

His expression had been tender for that moment before his exhale brought him cold once more.

It wasn’t pity. It was an apology of shared understanding.

After those heartbeats of blanketed quiet between them as they sat closer to each other than they’d likely allowed anyone else in lengthy memory (At least in the case of the hollow lord), Silvaire closed his eyes and pulled her body against his own to pick up the shivering creature. Even within the bloodloss she felt so warm, her quaking nerves a muted howling instinct to fight him as he brought her to the prepared water.

He knew what it was to carry someone who wished to flee, holding their tongue of fears from something beyond him in their moment, knowing that he was helping with good intention. It was a universal constant no matter what banner of creed one carried, Miqo’te or Elvaan Elezen alike.

Silvaire did not hold her for long, but his release of her body was tender into the water with her tail and feet first - it didn’t matter about the clothes yet. Either way they were already clinging to her striped fur with the hold of bloodied claws, water wouldn’t do anything to hinder removal any more; he also didn’t wish to invade that without permission.

Permission was important.

Permission tasted best. That was all.

“…There.” It was a simple word, the mask of his smile light in leu of the way the pooling water along the bottom had already began to stain red, even the cascading tap that poured beside her seemed to torrent into crimson only a moment after it touched her shoulder.

He stepped back then, looking her over for a moment to make sure she could keep herself stable within the tub, already seeing the hues of aching comfort easing the shivering over her limbs, and it was only then that he noticed the habit of the sleeve from running the tap, moving his hands behind his back with that painted smile as he redid the clasps.

“You’ve lost a great deal of blood, and aether besides. Do you have any allergies?” She needed sustenance if she were to go through these trials again, or recover enough to answer his looming questions.

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

Absentmindedly, her thumb ran over the back of his hand in an attempt to self-soothe. The healer stared at it for a moment, realizing what she had just done and pulling her hand back before taking a few steps back. She leaned on the doorframe, no longer facing him directly. Her gaze drifted off, and the pain in her face sunk away but it stayed as stains in her eyes. "I cannot allow another to die when I have the power to save them. Not again." She spoke softly, the pain in her tone still present with every word.

Her voice was a gentle warning, one that the man took to heart, and his awareness of the warmth of her fingers in his became a focal point as the world faded away, melting as an antique painting thrown to a funeral pyre, ichor of the world pooling at their feet in a mirror of dark nothingness. For a moment, as she let go, he felt the chill fill his bones and the longing of that light returned as the ripples of the familiar dark clung to his heart.

Silvaire needed no time to adjust to the world around him. The incorporeal, the feeling of a soul taken from the host into the scope of a scale beyond - strikingly similar to the tugged thread of being leashed to the host, or to slip between the cracks of portals. She couldn’t know his proficiency in such a matter however, and the polite moment was given all the same.

It was only through the ever speaking command of that late-emperor that Silvaire had learned of the concept of an ‘Echo’. To awaken a power, a so called blessing of the star to resist the thrall of primals and grant powers alike. The Ascian who held his leash never spoke much more on the matter, but since it had been an early subject of research - the false creation of that boon - he had posed questions to learn.

He wasn’t given much beyond the orders to hold his tongue, to which the voidsent obliged, as he ever did.

For a few brief moments his mind began to wander within the freedom of mental constructs, and it was only with Cyra’s voice as his anchor, that he focused to the present, following her siren’s call to the crimson door of memory lane.

The world around them was cold. Snow peppered the stones of misty dreams as he watched with his guide the story of a relationship he couldn’t fully grasp. Silvaire had heard the events of the Sultana’s ‘assassination’, of the Crystal Braves and more from the short connections he had at the time of the organization.

But he had not been involved in the outcome. They hadn’t needed a beast like him.

Quiet in the hollow of his heart, and silent while wandering the soul of another, the man kept his peace as he watched - watched such a simple interaction of idle drinks, and then, easy solitude.

She spoke on these as if they were grandiose events, declarations of love, shows of genuine ardor. They were… like anything he would see within the roads of towns, the sides of taverns….

Weren’t they?

What about these things mattered so much? Was it the replacement of ‘Bryn’? Was it a hole to be filled like sating the thirst of an aetherwell? Her history was much like his own, and yet, this woman felt so different. She did not become hollow.

Cyra had the anger, the frustration, the fury of her wrongs that a soldier long dead once fought for. Now, he watched as the memory of that young woman ran past them into the jaws of her traumatic reason. The monster didn’t understand. He knew the man died, he knew it was just what happened to those who had a life cycle. So what about sharing secrets, lacking judgment, kind words-

What about that made someone ‘human’?

It was the wailing cry on her past-self���s lips that broke his metaphorical heart. That is what silenced the dour nihilistic thoughts that pushed empathy away.

Silvaire knew that sound. God did he. In a moment that unmistakable agony of mourning shot through him. Death a second time. Death that would not come. Pain that would not end.

But here, in this hall of memories, it did.

Returned before it could be recognized as time, the hollow lord found himself looking down at those sorrowful eyes as she collected herself - that touch to the back of his palm startling him for half a moment before she too noticed, and that (welcome?) warmth was gone.

Her reason. It was the same as he assumed, the same as what she had explained in the carriage, and yet it felt different to the man. It was still… naive, there was no power in the world that could stop death - nothing that could fix all pain. It was a child’s dream. Pointless. Hopeless.

Silvaire looked to where their hands had touched, running his thumb along his fingers as the heat dissipated, as if she had never been there, and for a few moments the man was quiet, his internal debate a storm of blades that continued to bleed him from the inside. She had not spoken with command, she had given him permission, and she had trusted him to share.

So… it was time then, he was supposed to give her answers in turn? That was how contracts worked. That was the expectation. That was what everyone wanted.

Even if she had the soul of such care, of a person to save the world, not to burn it, there always hung the shackles of a leash. That was the true nature of the world. That was the Contract.

Her secrets for His.

And then, she would bleed.

His mouth opened for a moment, trying to find the words, trying to say the simple honest truth of what he was, of what she’d done by accepting him like that, of what agreement she had signed in that that carriage ride here. All he had to do, was tell her, he had her reason -The Reason - that was what he’d asked for. Her side had been completed.

So tell her of the monster in human skin.

Tell her of the violence that would happen in a few moments time.

Look into her eyes, her small frail body, waiting, watching him in turn, studying him for some judgment - and then take her. She had already cornered herself to that doorway, her mind was distracted by the feelings. Those heavy useless feelings.

Half a step was taken forward as these thoughts spun, tangling him as if caught in the web of his own lies.

“I…I’m-”

The thoughts, the ideas, the temptation continued. To imagine her claws pinned beneath his own, those sharp fangs biting at his skin with such a vicious defense, all it would take was a single snap of her jaw to leave it useless, her legs all the same, body bared open - willing for teeth and slaughter - the parasite inside was too weak to confront his domain - no defense, no offense, nothing but brittle mortal bones.

It would only take a moment.

To say the words, give his answers, and fulfill the Contract.

Only a trio of heartbeats of time had passed. Nothing to denote the savagery that hungered. He swallowed, slitted golds watching his guest for a moment… and the man stepped back, and looked away, turning once more to leave, as he always did.

“I’m… I’m sorry Cyra. Thank you, for trusting me.” He made for the doorway, knowing, that any moment longer would be a danger to that tired frailty his resolve held. A gnat compared to her own. “I’ll not bother you or your… studies tonight. Please, sleep well.”

He couldn’t wait till nightfall. Not while the thought of her warmth within his hands felt far too real.

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

The Keeper closed her eyes again, letting out a slow sigh. She felt the leather cover on her fingers, gently thumbing over the texture to give her something to focus on other than the pain that word brought her. It wasn't his fault. Still, the filter that she kept on with her chipped mask could not be held over her face any longer. It was clear he had seen things that were not meant for him. It also wasn't his fault. Cyra was beginning to think she had been cursed twice. She placed the book back down on the stack, gathering her courage as her ears stood straight up on her head. Tail waved lightly behind her as she left her hands rested on the stack. "What did you see?" The Miqo'te opened her eyes and looked directly into his own sunlit eyes.

It was no surprise seeing the outcome of warning his guest of the contents of the books, all aspects of her body stiffened as if she were prepared to be struck; and, emotionally, she probably was. Eyes shut tight in an unspoken pain, chest tight with that sharp inhale that began to suffocate her, the pulse so vivid against her neck pounding in a rapid dance that just as quickly simmered down as she exhaled with measured control.

He wondered if a more visceral reaction would have come if he’d let her find out of their contents on her own. Would she have torn the pages from their spines? Or dropped them as coals burning her flesh? He’d lost that opportunity now.

It was fine.

Cyra’s slow movement of putting the journal back to the others caught his attention, as the reaction was so… tempered, compared to what she’d shown him of her personality thus far. No longer was this the rabid hound who walked into the dark full of greed; and neither was she the frightened kitten strangled with a broken leash.

Those determined eyes told him otherwise.

This was the resolve she spoke of.

Despite the distance he had put between them, and how large the space of his empty home was, Silvaire felt the weight of her question, the density of the walls she’d boxed him into. He couldn’t leave it unanswered, he couldn’t turn and deny as his actions had long spoken otherwise. The voidsent just assumed she wouldn’t bring it up, would dare touch the wounds that coiled still so fresh in her skull - no mortal soul ever wanted to confront their demons.

And yet, here she was, commanding him.

He resisted the flinch as he swallowed - the obligation of a contract catching his tongue - and for a moment the lord found her eyes picturesq of something before. That demand for honesty, that unmoving determination before anything else could be done.

Nails tapped quickly against the back of his palm as he looked down at her shorter stature, yet it felt like they were on even ground all the same, and despite how much he wanted to look away the command on her tone gave him reason to do otherwise. She wasn’t the kind to hold eye-contact, and it was this moment of confidence that lit the fine print of how his world worked.

“I…” He tried to find the words, to find a way around phrasing them as openly as they would be, but as his fingers tightened behind his back he spoke as she wanted. “I saw their hands on you. On your body. I saw the violence you wrought on one who did it.” The room felt stifling, the air thick as water, even to a man who didn’t breathe. “I saw the vials. The injections. Felt the sting of poison in your veins. Your clawing against glass as it burned.”

His voice was quiet as he said all of this, not just due to how uncomfortable he was to say it - he could see each word stabbing into her, the shivering fingers clenched tight on wounded palms, the way that matted tail curled in the honest show of her internal hurt, the way her eyes never left him, yet watered all the same with unshed tears - but he also felt his own history spoken in this lie of omission.

He knew this pain as if it was his own, he knew these facts, the hands to a body, the scalpel to flesh, and could recognize them beneath those dark stripes - because he knew it already.

And here the man was, blaming her touch for that pain. Instead of admitting to his own.

“I could taste the salt on your lips as you were left beaten. I lost vision with you as that man’s fist broke your skull for the act of looking. I-” He stopped. She was blurry suddenly, he didn’t touch his glasses. Where did it come from?

Oh.

Silvaire cleared his throat, blinking away the tears that threatened his deeper self, adjusting his posture for a moment despite not moving, despite the fact she’d not gotten all his answers.

There was something in her eyes that told him that was enough, for both of them.

A whisper, spoken from the closed off heart.

“Forgive me, Cyra.”

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

She believed herself a tool to serve others, even if the Garleans hadn't fully broken her will, it was hard to change the mold they stuffed her into. She fully believed that if she failed to survive the trials ahead, then her time fighting was worthless. She had already fumbled more times than she wanted to count, and the biggest one was letting him die. This path she chose was her second chance, and after that...there wasn't anything left. Grateful that her body had at least given her the chance to speak before descending into the dark of unconsciousness, she grunted as she struggled to remove the talons gripped tight into flesh. She tried so hard not to make it painful for him, foolishly taking her last moments aware to at least seal up the holes she had left in his skin. Aether pulsed from her bloodied fingertips. Sweat beaded on her skin, the mark of a stubborn girl who would fight until her last breath. The ruby hand quickly went limp, and her body was soon to follow. But the hand that clutched the cloth of his collar remained balled into a fist.

Ten seconds. That was how many moments he had to recognize the slip of the tongue. To register the words his weakness brought.

Ten seconds spent looking at her, his mask a mockery of stillness, pretending he couldn’t see the way her lips curled to bare sharp teeth, that he didn’t notice the way her whole body shivered to resist the rage that begged for carnage.

Ten seconds, and Cyra needed less than one to leap across the room.

Any measure of reaction was stifled by the genuine surprise of her speed, more than normal- more than just that granted by a contract. For as clever as the lord often thought himself, he hadn’t anticipated that. He didn’t know that.

Her body, light as it was, rocked the chair to tilt them ever so slightly against the wall as she sat half on him; those taloned paws digging into the armrest and his leg alike - grappling his larger form with the attention of the predator he often called himself. Her small hands came next to burrow into both his shoulder and the stuffing behind his head with an audible crunch for both; her restraint caught her visibly at the last moment as her fangs hovered over him with a snarl - leaving him pinned beneath her without a moment to react. It was impressive, even if it was painful.

Painful?

Silvaire’s eyes widened as her nails tensed in his flesh, the clawing marks across his leg bringing that same stinging sensation he found so rare. For a moment his breath hitched as he swallowed, fingers twitching reactively as he felt the nerves beneath burn, his jaw tightening as she pushed herself further against him, leveraging her smaller height above him in the chair - those bright eyes nearly pure in their singular hue, as if the pupils had been swallowed by the storm within.

It hurt. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. Not like this.

Cyra stopped, those ears that were pinned flat twitched with mental recognition as he could tell she was fighting the urges that had won out, that rapid tail spiked out with a vibrant bloom to her fur as the anger covered her skin. It was here that the man made to move, even just a little-

Claws gripped his windpipe in an instant, tight as they were able considering the weakness that shivered across her limbs, and he knew then that if this woman had been at her full strength that reaction would have pierced his throat as easily as breathing. Though his heart was cold, it’s pulse often slow, it was here that Silvaire could feel it rise to match her tempo - dancing that rhythm with her as their eyes locked.

Then, he realized why he felt this fear. Why he felt this familiar agony.

It was hers.

Once again, like that single moment in what felt like a lifetime ago by now, he was torn from the present to the hell of a past - one that was not his own, but by Altana did it feel just the same.

The cold isolation. Soldiers marked by a familiar standard. Commands to listen. People to fear. Cages to hold the beast. Scalpels to draw across unwilling skin-

Violence in the guise of choice.

Silvaire’s chest heaved as he wanted nothing more than the close his eyes, to avert his gaze from the history he had no right to see - had no desire to see - but it was the trickling essence of her overwhelming emotion that punctured his shoulder, feeding the memories of his own wounds all the same as she pulled them both back from the brink. That grip around his throat loosened to hold into the hem of his collar with such a weak pull (wanting him closer) so he leaned ever so slightly into that request despite the spears that gutted him.

He once more saw the stars in the skies as the heat of her tears rained against his cheek.

“…If I die fighting to save others, then I've fulfilled my purpose.”

He studied her as her whispered declaration brought her closer as that failing body began to curl in on itself from exhaustion, and for a moment as those bladed claws pulled free from his blooded shoulder, the beast within saw the opening, saw her weakness, saw the way that scarred throat was turned towards him, welcoming sharp teeth-

Sunlit eyes widened as the barest hint of her aether pushed itself into his body, and for the first time in too long; Silvaire could breathe.

The man’s inhale was a sharp exclamation as the feeling made him blink, exhaling a shaking gasp as Cyra’s face felt crystal clear before him - only for those tired eyes to roll back as the sweet healer lost consciousness and began to fall.

His hands were quick to catch her, not an ounce of hesitation as his arms moved to curve around her back, palm supporting her head as every part of her went limp in his lap, the deathly slow rise of her chest the only inkling of life - and gently, as if on instinct, the Elezen brought the small Miqo’te close to his chest as if to protect her from all the memories that still haunted her. The history that pained him all the same.

“...Forgive me.” She couldn’t hear him, and that was fine.

For a few heartbeats, everything was quiet once again, a false sense of peace - before the man hissed sharply through his teeth as the genuine pain of his impromptu injuries began to waken. Slowly he looked to see the blood of his own pooling to his once-clean shirt, staining the fabric quickly with the depth of her well made claws. One may have skinned bone by the feel of it.

It didn’t matter right now.

Standing with her in his arms once again he found himself almost falling for a moment before catching himself; wholly forgetting about the way her hind leg had burrowed into his own, and he huffed for a second before forcing the limb to listen.

Her donation of aether may have given him clearer thoughts, more of a handle on the imbalance that ever threatened his faculties, but it always came with the caveat of feeling. His tolerance for pain was just higher than most.

So that was saying something about the skill this girl had at her disposal.

Though, as he walked to the bed once more to lay her atop it (shuffling the pillows she’d enjoyed so much around her in a small apology of a nest) Silvaire knew that she wouldn’t take that as a compliment. Not after he had unwillingly seen a portion of the memories that plagued her.

Having this knowledge of her left a sour taste in his mouth. It wasn’t given with permission. If such a thing happened to him, there was no telling what the other would learn.

Her secrets are his and his alone.

Brushing his hair over his shoulder out of habit - wincing at the motion - he pulled the blanket over his guest one more time and took the tray from the bed, finally noticing that she had indeed eaten at least a little, leaving it at the bedside for when she awoke. He didn’t say anything more to her as he understood that she was far too tired to even function now.

Unresponsive to be sure.

Even if idle ears flicked here and there at his movement, he doubted there would be any cognizant discussion to be had. So it was with that in mind that he - once again - went to his wardrobe to get a new outfit. This time he didn’t wait to undo his shirt, the pain of his shoulder far deeper than his leg as the material of the cloth continued to press to it; the silk of his hair danced over his shoulders as he moved, and after discarding the stained material to the ground with a wordless sigh the next garment was chosen with one hand, but not yet worn.

Already the wound was healing, slowly, far too slowly to be considered normal for any person who just had a healer quite literally force their innate curatives into the flesh; blood dripped down his arm as his fingers curled on and off to test the nerves while he stood facing away from the woman who’d done the deed.

He didn’t want to look at her.

He’d tasted her aether without consent. Without his consent.

And it was wonderful.

The thought that spun was telling for how much of that sense of life had already begun to be used for those marks, how much just a drop of her potent wellspring had given him, and how greedy his endless thirst was. She needed time without him. Without his questions. Without his remarks.

Without the way he continued to linger on the edge of breaking contract. Of losing her comfort.

She needed the time to recover and to rest, even if he doubted she’d enjoy it.

The hollow lord left the room at that point, feeling the weight of the interaction heavy across scarred shoulders as he ignored the way fading droplets followed him. It was no crimson river like his guest had provided, but it speckled here and there all the same. He was too tired to care. It would stop soon enough.

With the clean cloth slung over his untainted shoulder, Silvaire - similar to the guest who was prone to the same - vehemently ignored the rare way his body pleaded for rest. Moving to the Red Room to grab those heavy tomes to bring back to the nightstand by her bed, he did so quickly, and by the time that single task was finally done the wounds at his leg and shoulder had healed in that unnatural regeneration - though she had cast her own spell on his flesh, it was not her influence that stitched him together.

This had been tested endless times after all. He knew better.

But drawing on what little aetherial balance he had left made his eyelids heavy, made his breathing shallow; for now he needed that function, the last resort of drawing in the minuscule amounts of aether from the world around him as a defense from falling too far into the dark.

With himself clothed once more as what felt like his last reasonable thought he began to make his way downstairs to build distance between them, leaning on that solid railing as he went for a fair distance before a leg caught against a heel and the man found himself at the bottom in unintentional instant. He didn’t feel anything this time.

Her aether had been used, and once more, he was hollow.

She was right there. Stilled. Quiet. Unknowing. Open. Willing-

The thought was pushed away with an audible growl as he pulled himself to sit against the stairs, laying across them in some makeshift bed with his head resting against one of the steps as his hair cascaded around him as if a waterfall of ink, his foot stabilized on the floor to keep himself from falling any further.

The memories of her pain took so much out of him, took so much energy just to lock his own away. To ignore the pain and violence, to keep away the euphoric image of his teeth sinking into that bare neck to drain her dry - to feel that supple body against his own as his own nails dug into furred skin, listening to the heart beat so loudly, music to his senses- her aether had been so warm.

So genuine, that care to help.

He wanted to feel that again.

That moment of rare moment of clarity. One that faceless meals of shallow puddles couldn’t bring, one that she brought into the dark, to find the candle that he’d thought long since suffocated.

Silvaire’s hand rose to rest a wrist across his eyes as the sun had fully risen to brighten the lobby of his estate. He just had to make it until nightfall, to gather what passive aether he could until he could find a different source. She was not an option.

As the light stung his eyes until he closed them, the nerves too numbed to feel the heat by this point, his last thought until his idle breathing evened out was simple;

He forgot his glasses in her room.

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

Something whispered to her. It's haunting voice pierced through the ringing bells in her ears, cutting a chilling path up her spine. It wasn't until then that the pain began to feel more like a violent writhing of a presence in her head. It was like a hellish creature pressing against the walls of the shell as it prepared to hatch. Confused, terrified, and in agony, she called on her Aether in a panic, attempting to silence the hissing and wriggling behind her eyes. Her body trembled as her flow of energy sputtered and fizzled out as quickly as she called it forth. Something had absorbed- no...eaten her Aether.

Hours of his quiet nights were spent active, lacking the requirement of restful sleep, most of the time was spent in idle cleaning in a mundane activity that kept his hands busy - habits ingrained by prior years but comforting all the same for the semblance of control to choose it - so it was at the dawning sun that he found himself once more reminded of his guest, in the process of putting some fruit out to the counter for her later.

It was not the sound that alerted him first, it was the feeling.

The devouring of aether that clawed against his skull, the dredge of pitch of that familiarity - that dark depth of hunger that set his teeth on edge - as if a predator that had scented blood.

But he was different. He held the leash to these urges. Tightening his jaw and inhaling a sharp breath to focus his mind Silvaire all but ran up the stairs as the sounds of her decadent struggle flitted down to his senses, and without a word opened the door to the guest room-

-To see that small woman seeming all the more fragile, her knees pulled tight as she sat doubled over in the obvious agony that tore at her skull - claws digging into grey skin as if hoping to pull free whatever unseen knives twisted into her nerves. Her body shivered, slick with sweat, rippling with spasms of uncontrolled nerves continuing to send signal after useless signal of ‘help me’.

The demon stood there, watching, enthralled with the way her throat quenched with the silence of screaming, no air to yell, no air to breathe, just the anguish of something within burning, clawing, eating-

The Elezen blinked and found himself moving without thinking - no words of warning for his presence as she wouldn’t hear him anyway - and made for one of the bureaus off to the side of the room, tossing things this way and that to get to the drawer at the bottom where fully aspected crystals sat hidden away, waiting for the days his thirst couldn’t be sated.

These were not meant for her. Yet as he grabbed them, the instinct of his buried nature won out, and he came to kneel beside her without an ounce of hesitation to take her hand in his own and forcing her iron grip to hold the aetherical conduit, offering some outside source to feed that draining thing.

It would kill her if it took everything now - He wanted to see the end result.

Nothing more.

Silent was his voice, wordless did he watch, those sharp eyes taking in each inch of her person as her muscles thrashed, her dangerous teeth clenched tight in snapping bites for sounds that couldn’t escape.

But the crystal slowly dimmed, so something, was happy to take his temporary offer.

[forgotten-contract]

voidtouched-blue--[prior]

"You have my gratitude..." She spoke softly. The healer hadn't even looked back at him as her eyes took in the shelves and their contents from the distance. "If...If you'll excuse me, I'm quite eager to begin." She had already begun digging around in her bag to pull out her compendium. She took a few steps beyond the threshold and stopped abruptly. "May I?" She turned to face him, her ears standing straight up on her head. She wouldn't dare miss a word he said. Cyra already knew she had his permission. He had given her a key, but she still felt that a display of manners was in order. After all, she was in his private estate.

If one were to watch Silvaire though his days through the city, even within the crowded areas of the Ul’Dahn markets, they wouldn’t be wrong to notice the pattern of touch avoidance. A hovered hand above a shoulder perhaps, but rarely beyond requirement did the Elezen come in contact with another person. So the man was wholly unprepared for the feeling of that gentle hand around his wrist - instinct to lurch or grab her in retaliation stomped down by his mask of self control as the blind reaching took the proffered key. Swallowing his nerves with only a moment given to that distress, his script resumed with a forced smile as she turned to him, the comfortable lighting of his home granting the perfect view of those bright eyes, her feline ears perked with such attention it almost fed to true mirth in his chest. “Of course. As I said, my collection is yours Cyra, nothing may leave the estate but I doubt that will hinder your work.” He motioned towards the back of the room for a moment before noticing the shiver of the hand she’d touched, pulling it back behind him to hold and nodded towards it instead. “The oldest items are at the back, most are protected in cases I am sad to say, but you will find copies of their text within the drawers of the pedestals.” The way her furred skin bristled with emotion at the idea of free reign was… cute? Was that the term? Despite the knowledge that such a woman would soon be within the clutches of the unspeakable, the enthusiasm for the collection did bring a bit of pride. “Beyond those, there are medical and magical categories to the west, though I doubt there’s any you’ve not found.” Again a motion of a nod as his nails dug into his palm with a swallow, explaining a few more sections of tomes that his collection had been sorted into; adding that few of his own journals in a similar form of her notes were scattered about for the same reason of burned knowledge.

As if on autopilot he made to point out a corner beneath an alcove, and then stopped himself, He had set the terms to his whole collection, he could not forbid her now - it would break the contract. “Along side personal anecdotes there may be some, Non-Aetherical discussion.” Garlean he meant. He couldn’t say such though. Notes of the true feelings that came with searing imprisonment and the watching medical notes that had been recorded from afar; a bit of a personal hang up to say the least. “But that might not be what you’re looking for.” Clearing his throat of the topic (and feeling the weight of his nerves still plaguing him) Silvaire offered a nod towards her with a single step back towards the door. “I shall go collect some materials from the study to translate for you while you make yourself comfortable.”

He didn’t close the door as he left, either neglecting the habit or understanding it would prove pointless without the key, but his steps did not take him far beyond out of line of sight before that slipping mask fell. Fingers clasped tight around that wrist as the man leaned to the wall, eyes closed almost as tight as the unforgiving grip he had on that spot. This was why he held no need for servants. If more people were around, then the actor would never leave the stage. Inhaling and exhaling Silvare’s nails tightened into the cloth with what he could only describe as fury. Not towards the girl of course, but a buried emotion wrought with iron thorns, one that faded into a grimace as that sleeve was unbuttoned and pulled down to see the marks beneath. Just as the scar on his face, no matter how much aether he used, no matter how he forced the body to change, they would not fade. Memories etched in his very being as a creature in stolen flesh. The ingenuity of Garlean science. But, they had not changed from her touch, even if the ghosts of feeling haunted him, the reality remained the same. Nothing was wrong. Nothing would happen. Nothing truly hurt. A sharp exhale and the anger (or whatever it was) simmered as the clasp was redone and he made to the study for the parchment as he promised. She would be fine on her own for a time.

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue -- [Prior]

"Silvaire has offered to escort me home, a gesture I am most appreciative for." She bowed her head respectfully for a moment. Knowing that too much social flair would easily set her tumbling to the ground if she wasn't careful. "My things, if you please." She placed her free hand on the surface of the counter to aid in keeping herself steady. "It seems I will not be staying as late as originally planned, but rest assured Momodi, I will return once I have recovered. And I won't forget to repay this kindness. Not many would do for me as you have." She offered the keeper of the Quicksand a pained smile as she continued to hold her suffering at bay.

A low huff of air escaped the woman as her lips tightened to threaten a scowl at the obvious overworking demeanour of the Miqo’te, each word ironing in that expression further as the minuscule hints of pain radiated from her person; obvious even to the uninitiated.

But Momodi was used to this wasn’t she, letting grown men and women choose their poison.

And as she met the hidden eyes of the man she named, it was clear to him the Lalafell saw him as that rumoured snake.

Bold declaration if any. For once there was no danger towards the person with him, He had no desire of such a thing. The irony was not lost on him.

“Mhm…” Momodi paused and nodded with a sigh, stepping down from the counter to grab the items she had laid off to the side for safe keeping, placing them atop the wood within a few moments with a comment to Cyra that was none-to-obvious towards her companion as well. “You make sure you get home safe’ye hear? You can think’bout repaying me then.”

Silvaire did not tempt her ire, knowing the social power the short woman held behind her, and offered a slight bow of his own with gentle thanks that seemed to soften whatever potential rumour she held in the back of her mind.

The trust in the choices of another.

Walking once his charge was ready, the Elezen brought a hand to the linkpearl that was clasped in the jaws of the metal snake at his ear and tapped it thrice, not a word spoken in turn for whomever was on the other end - that signal was all they needed to know for his request of transport. He’d worked hard enough to keep the amount of people who he talked too at a minimum, even for such matters.

“The carriage shall be at the gate for us.” Was his communication to her as they moved and it was more for the idle response of the matter than any conversational purpose. She seemed to be similar to him in that regard.

Two actors playing the part of normalcy within the halls of the Quicksand, pretending with idle smiles and a casual pace, yet even his step held the leashed pace of quickened excitement. To see a person’s fall from grace, it was a luxury that few understood.

The thrall that he followed was a scene all in herself. Bridled muscles coiled and ready, once slumped shoulders tightened as her invigorated dreams chained her onward into the dark. Even that swirling aether seemed to spurn and churn as tendrils of her emotions braided through the world around her.

Unseen by all but those who looked.

As he had stated (and instructed the pale driver) the carriage was indeed waiting by the outward entrance by the guild, easy within the distance for the somewhat recovering Miqo’te compared to the lengthy walk to the other side. Whether this change in posture was due to her medicinal abilities, or her own stubborn sense of will, he didn’t really know and honestly wasn’t privy to care. As long as she wouldn’t succumb to the claws that dragged across her skull he wouldn’t prod.

Compared to that of traditional caravans, the one that Silvaire had called for was one he himself owned and designed - much more private in the form of a well furnished walled box and safer from the heat of the sun with the inside a much more comfortable dark, a few crystals peppered here and there to facilitate the cooling wind for a creature such as himself. He would never get heatstroke like others of the world, but the light of it all burned far worse than he would like; many things within his domain estate had been adjusted with such a thing in mind.

Allowing her to seat herself first he followed, once more tapping thrice to the snake for the driver to begin moving, the seating having ample room for him to cross his legs and rest his temple against his knuckles as he took off the dark glasses to finally look at her properly. It was in the dark that his eyes excelled, and most of her details had indeed been washed away by the light of candles or skies. It was of course not pitch dark within the cabin, with veiled windows to allow her to see as any other would, but still it was more than most.

Silvaire was silent for a few minutes as his own tension subsided - granting her the peace to adjust to whatever pain she had left - before he tapped a finger against his knee and spoke; the tempo of his voice much more laxed and quiet in the solitude.

“Can you read Hingan Script, or any other languages?”

[forgotten-contract]

Voidsent-blue--[Prior]

"Hmm?" Her voice gurgled her inquiry. She coughed, clearing up the blockage before answering. "Allergies? No. Why do you ask?" Really? That's the first thing he wants to know? After everything that just happened? That was completely unexpected. The amount of time she spent stressing over her words had been wasted. No, perhaps he would be asking later. Saving the hard questions for when she had the strength to withstand the stress of delving back behind locked doors for forbidden history. Cyra shuddered at the thought, feeling the shrieking memories pounding at the lock and chain.

“Good to know,” He didn’t answer her returning query as it would be clear enough soon - even just a simple thought on the context would honestly do the trick - moving instead to that slatted armoire off to the side and rifling through it with an even and organized pace near opposite to the last time he had been searching through dressers for her.

Nothing of consequence was within the shelves, towels similar to that at the side table of the bath, extra items for cleaning, fragrances for the desert heat. Nothing that any normal soul would bat an eye at being in the room; it all belonged, almost too well.

The items procured however were the same, and with two sizable crystals of equally balanced aether in his grip the man closed the doors with one hand, looking down to them with an idle click of his tongue. There weren’t as many in his estate than he had anticipated. Had he really been using so many instead of walking the town? Shame on him.

He did need more ‘stagnant’ aether to feel sated - nearly three times that of one small bite - the warmth in the soul was far more potent, more personal; satisfying him in every way a hollow man could ask for.

Slitted golds turned to her and the wasteful red that poured off her person, before shaking his head as if to dismiss the unspoken and walked to her side once more. Placing the white shards to the table beside the tub - well within her easy reach - he cocked his head to the side and offered a tidbit of explanation, though she was most likely smart enough to understand without his influence.

“Replenish your aether first, Then I can provide you a bit more sustenance for the bloodloss.”

Mortal bodies ran abundant with the mystical properties of Aether (He assumed she knew as much from the ‘healer’ tinted aspects of her personality), the fuel of each muscle, each nerve and tissue and sinew bound together in tandem by one simple property. Without it, well, nothing would move - inanimate or otherwise.

Silvaire reached over her to make sure the stopper of the drain wasn’t halting the flow completely anymore - well aware to keep his sleeves pulled this time and taking the drench of water in turn for his troubles - the bath itself already a fair portion full, so clearing some of that heavier taint would ease the process, and probably keep her from drowning in his absence.

As he leaned, that sharp stare met her own, the distance between them close enough that he could see those speckled scars punctuated by the glisten of wet fur, sharp teeth at parted lips that obviously held back the instinct of defense from the sudden approach - and he found himself pausing to study her, the morning light from the windows catching on her skin as he found a lack of words.

Cyra was waiting, he could see those worries in blue stars, waiting for the denial, for him to punish the mistakes, waiting for him to brand her a monster.

She wasn’t, not to him.

Crouching down at the edge of the marble, he let his hand stay in the warmth of the water as if that would help keep the cold away from his heart; watching the swirling pattern of those misty plumes drown and coil to the half-capped drain.

Who was he to judge for such a genuine reason?

If she had said something simple, something selfish, Perhaps she wouldn’t be in his care right now. He would have had all the more reason to leave her to die for his gratification.

“You won’t find judgment from me-” A swallow as he cleared his throat, finding it a bit more difficult than anticipated to choke down the need to brush her away. “-I would be a hypocrite otherwise.” It was a soft admittance, and it was only after a moment that he made to stand, looking down at the young woman who lay pale and mending with the faintest smile that weighed heavy with his sins.

“I shall find you both a change of clothes and something to eat. Take as long as you need, if you need anything say my name and I’ll hear you.” How such a thing was possible within the broad halls he didn’t explain - The power of a name was beyond that of an identity for those shackled in the dark.

His shoes no longer left prints within the stoned snow of marble, yet the trail of dried blood still matted the ground as an intricate carpet of flailing patterns; the door was left half open; ajar as to give his guest some privacy without the fear of being locked within (Something he himself would think of), and left to do as he had said, hands once again clasped behind his back as he looked to her one more time before that cold mask returned to banish the warmth in his chest.

He needed to finish this Contract soon. She was plying to his nerves, to his memories. Disgusting.

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue --- [Prior]

[...]The sudden melody of his voice somewhat startled her. She turned to him, ears twisting to catch his introduction. The healer blinked, rubbing her eyes to try and get a clear look at him, but everything was still quite blurred. She offered him a smile, and a gentle bow of her head in return for the pleasantry. "Charmed." She kept her tone calm and cool despite the throbbing that overwhelmed her thoughts. "Cyra Lunastra. Would that I weren't currently dealing with a simple case of over-working myself, I'm sure our meeting would be more pleasant." Her apology was genuine, even if not a true apology. The Miqo'te wasn't one to keep close friends, but the few she had, she hadn't spoken to in months. She wasn't about to make another. Even in her time of need, she would keep him at a distance if she could help it.

“Cyra.” He tested the name on his tongue, musing idle as her apology met the air. A fitting name like any other, some history no doubt behind the conventions, attachments or neglection in the vein of similar human virtues. Gilded eyes rolled behind dark glasses - Eorzeans always seemed to ignore the power behind a name. Maybe she would fair better. “Overworking happens to the best of us, I’m not immune to it myself.” The lilt of his tone was honest as it was true; Keeping up appearances of an estate did require more than a little genuine paperwork and meetings for shareholds - leading to inattention of his own needs far more often than he cared to admit. Their pace was slow as the duo continued onward through the heat, the blanketed cloth that hung across the walkways of Ul’Dah’s streets giving some small break from the desert heat every so often in sparse shadows that dusted the sandstone cobbles to break the monotonous reds. Small talk wasn’t anything that Silvaire ever enjoyed, even with things (Or people) he had caught an interest in. Often, the casual soul had nothing beneficial to say, filling the space with sounds of mewling or complaints of weather. Even if the Elezen disliked the burn of this world’s light, he never spoke on it. There would be no reason too, as there would be nothing to be done about the celestial body, thus it was pointless. But that was social convention at it’s finest. Pointless. She seemed to hold this in regard, whether that was in turn to some bygone influence of a stranger, or the same sentiment he didn’t know. But it was an unspoken appreciation in comparison to merchants or peddlers that often earned his ire. Tapping his fingers against the back of his palm, the clink of rings sounding ever so slightly as his thoughts turned in contemplation. In curiosity. How would she react to an answer? Would she deny the notes? Or fall further into that obsession without seeking practicality. Enough people had come and gone now that he was fully confident that none from the sanctum had followed nor found her novel choices wanting, so it was simple enough to broach the subject on his own. With a glance to her person he offered a hum of warning before speaking - the subject spoken quietly to those attentive ears that flicked here and there to his notice; “I’ve heard that, as of recently, a peculiar Hingashi Script was sold in auction within the Ul’Dahn houses.” A pause as two unnamed bodies passed them by. “Volumes of parchment documenting the history of… Ill-antiquated Contracts.” The hidden offer earned a genuine turn of his lip as he looked down towards her petite stature. There was no judgment in his tone, and as she seemed to be smart enough to understand the gesture of his words he continued. “Being as most of the Syndicate are wholly incapable of speaking anything but the common tongue, it was only those who could read the text itself that understood the value, or the requirement to keep it from being locked away once again by brothers of like-minds.” Leaning as he did to peer properly beneath her hood, he kept his distance just enough to meet her sharp gaze. “Perhaps, Cyra, once your migraine has subsided, you could resume your studies within more agreeable lodgings.”

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

[Content warning for details of blood, gore, injury, and emotional distress]

There she was.

Crystal blues slowly focused on the world around her, those blown out pupils sliding to casual slits as the light of the room began to register to erratic nerves. The posture of her protective hold loosened in turn, the muscles of her body laxing as the young woman seemed to wake from her terror.

That dark tinted nose crinkled at the scents that no doubt overwhelmed her fragile awareness, passive flinches of her skin slowing as the sensory inputs began to level back to reality, those searching eyes glancing to her hands with an expression of the purest confusion - the blackout of memories, a blessing in some cases.

Here, it only further added to the torture of the unseen. The unknown.

As Cyra studied him, the beast felt himself still as if caught in the act of something horrible; for indeed that inner voice relished in the way her brows furrowed, the way her lips pulled and that hoarse throat bobbed with empty swallows as the flood of guilt drowned those starlit skies now blurred with tears.

His fingers twitched on instinct as the first apology drifted into the silence. Snapping the man to see her for what she was, his own expression shifting only a fraction as that second hurting call came out - she clung to the safety of her furred anchor for comfort from instinct. For half a moment his palm moved towards her only to stop and draw back, as if realizing something, his eyes drifting down as the girl began to break down.

She was so small.

So alone.

He was nothing but a ghost, who was he to offer comfort?

Taking a quiet breath Silvaire stood, giving his thoughts only a second to debate before moving - doing before he could convince himself otherwise - heading to that haphazard bureau to find some of the extra cloth that he’d tossed in his madness to fix his contract with the secondary aetherical source, folding a few sheets into stacked layers knowing they would become stained. It was another thing he’d have to go out of his way to deal with.

Walking back over he made his steps known with a gentle tempo, and with his taller stature and longer reach it was fairly easy for the man to drape that blanket across her. Warmth from the chill? Grounding for the unreasoned? Comfort of another?

Pointless. Useless. She would live, she didn’t need his coddling.

“Things can be cleaned.” His voice was gentle, as if knowing the tone needed for this scale of violence. Of what someone would want to hear after such an unimaginable violation. He did not touch her, but the pale fingers hovered as if there was some type of barrier between them as he kneeled to be once more in her line of sight. “Floors can be washed…”

Did he expect some sort of reward? Her quivering mess of gore and blood had long faded, now it was little more than the boring tenure of repeated nothings.

The apparition within continued it’s nihilistic viewpoints, though the way the young woman before him shivered, he found no pleasure in it. He was not a creature who was fed on lavished agony, even if the sadism had been so deeply nailed to the coffin that housed the man within.

He waited for those crying crystals to meet sweet gold before he offered a smile beyond the mask. The red still stained his skin and clothes, and it was obvious both of them would need to get cleaned in some way soon, yet he made no motion to hurry her.

“You, Cyra, are irreplaceable. It's alright.” Life was so easily tossed aside by those who did not understand its rarity. Here, was one such girl who had begun to learn the lesson of that forgotten mortality.

An irony really, considering her reason.

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

Yet her body would continue to betray her. The room spun as the spots blinded her, but the door was so close. Stubborn to the core, she continued to try and push past her limit, only to be met with a clumsy stagger. Her tail flicked, smacking the chair as she began losing her balance again. With a light, meaty thud, she half-collapsed to the floor again, just as before. And just as before, she had shifted to her hands and knees. The spinning room, the stippling dots that took turns obscuring parts of her vision, and the unbelievable fatigue that gripped her had her reeling. Before he could even react to the sight of her trembling, and huffing figure, she let out a tired warning. "Don't-....I just...I just need a moment..."

Silvaire had left with all the intention of allowing his feline companion the privacy to walk and move on her own, staying in the adjoining room and once more assessing the damage to his property… not that the man really cared. Idle hands grazed against the inlet stain that her huddled form had left onto the bedding, walking with small lazy steps through the unavoidable pool of ichor that clung to his boots, bringing him to the bedside table.

There was nothing like the feeling of fresh blood parting beneath your heel, even if it held only wasted opportunities.

Atop that marred furniture still rested those tomes, the translation harboring starred droplets of ink and rose alike, and it was with a sigh that he picked up the books with the full intent of bringing them while she walked on her own-

The audible crash of a chair from some huffing tail and the fall of a light body earned a cocked brow and a tilt of the head as the lord walked back to the room, leaning into the light to see the way she struggled and shook on his floor for… the third time? Perhaps the fourth.

Dark nails held back a smile as he clicked his tongue, placing both her Compendium and his translation atop the counter, going to assist in some capacity when her exhausted voice gave him warning, a warning that earned a low hum from the man as he straightened to, indeed, give her time.

In those moments (That began to stretch into minutes) Silvaire studied the woman who had finally gotten herself clean, though the wounds atop her head still glistened and dripped in rare beads, she seemed relatively unscathed by the gore that he noticed stained the tub all the same. A few cuts here and there marred her body, though some of them, he now realized as the hem of his shirt rose along her thighs, were no dark scratches like he had wrongly assumed but stripes that naturally patterned to her fur.

Those slow lazy steps resumed as the demon watched with an idle fascination, hands behind his back (To hold himself still?) as Cyra began to all but crawl towards the doorway. It reminded him so much of bygone years; a blood soaked floor, a meaty puppet bemoaning their helplessness as he waited - watching them claw and plead towards a presented exit.

Her paws hooked on any surface they could with the edges of the flooring, and each rise of those knees, each pull of those thin shoulders, served to highlight the draping fabric on her form. Many layers had hidden the curves beneath, but here he was uncomfortably aware of the way her jugular pulsed along her strained collar, how her tendons tensed, relaxed, and tensed again with each struggling motion of a stubborn well-trained will.

Even the way that tail swished beneath that fabric - however low it stayed - brought those predator’s eyes to watch the tiger in the trap, watching as it thwacked against the marble with her growling complaints dimming as her strength began to wane once more; it would be here that normally, in the pleasure of the past, he would begin the real game-

Circling around he picked up the fallen items to occupy himself from those thoughts, sensing her discomfort with his study of her body, of her mannerisms, of him. Clearing his throat he avoided the reddened towel for a moment before turning back to her to kneel at the Keeper’s side once again.

“You’re in no condition to move on your own it seems.” It was a statement of fact by this point - the lord had given her more than enough time to manage on her own, and now it was proven she wouldn’t be able to even make it outside the doorframe. “I would rather not leave you to shiver on the tiles, so…”

Internally his body revolted at the idea of picking her up, again.

But, it was a means to an end.

This time however, the Elezen was aware enough of her own dislike, and some unspoken condition, of touch - and it was with a tentative angle that he made to scoop the feline into his lap once more-

Only to feel her full palm press against his chest in a firm denial, sliding from his grip to fall to her side with a groan that could only be a measure of regret. He had to admit, he hadn’t thought she’d do something like that all things considered; and it earned a twitch of the lip of honest mirth

Stubborn.

“Cyra-” He moved a touch closer and felt the flick of that thick tail against his thigh in obvious warning that his contractual obligation had to ignore. “-You’re too weak.” The man bit back the words ‘You can’t stop me’.

Seeing a measure of thought drift over her eyes as those attentive ears flicked forwards and back, Silvaire took that opportunity to make the choice for her and once again picked her up but this time standing as quickly as possible while keeping her balanced, ending up with one of her arms slung over his shoulder to hold her high on his chest as his hands held far too much warmth in them through the single layer of fabric, and as she struggled for a few heartbeats to push and wiggle, her eyes clenched tightly in a taught history that made him wait, wait and let her move as she needed while still being in his grip.

If she’d let him grab her properly the first time he wouldn’t have her so close-

Cyra stilled as she most likely accepted the outcome, and it was here that Silvaire could feel the thick hammering pulse of her heart through the arteries of her side pressed flush to his shoulder, the rhythm dancing in a tantalizing tempo as the lower hem drifted from the gravity of how she was sitting in his arms, nothing revealing in the traditional sense, but the aether that hid beneath that slickened fur, patterned beautifully along the collarbone in such a way it made his tongue run along the inside of his teeth; the feeling of her and the heat that came from a real life wasn’t something he was used too and… she… she was just as close to him as he was to her. She could see him just as well. Just as clear.

Though his heart was cold, it still worked in the anatomical sense - the sense of the emotional of the man who realized he’d been caught quite literally red handed - and with the lacking excuse to leave the room as he had often done thus far, there was no way for him to escape the flush that rose to pale skin as gilded eyes blinked and looked away, his voice a low rumble in his chest as he tried to ignore the thoughts that spun, the hunger that ached deep within.

“-I’m sorry. I’ll let you go as soon as I can.”

True to his word he was quick to walk as needed, desperate in his own mind to ignore the way her arm slid over his back, or the way her tail once more curled for balance on stained wrists on instinct - or the way he could feel those bright eyes watching him.

Soon enough he had brought her to his room where the food waited, and for once, he didn’t leave as soon as he was done, despite how he had many excuses to do otherwise at the moment.

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

This isn't supposed to hurt. Her heart thumped hard. She felt a dampness coat her face, and a shiver ran through her. The mauled skin had fully returned to it's normal state, no scars or loss of hair present. Yet, the gnarled and inflamed flesh around her fresh protrusions remained untouched by the magic. What was more alarming to the skilled healer, was that the aether that should have mended all wounds had just vanished. Maybe...maybe I need something with more magic behind it? She tried again, following the same steps as before, but concentrating more into the cast. The glow in her fingers was brighter, denser as it flowed out and back onto the wretched spikes, only for her to watch in confusion as the magic seemed to be absorbed by them. Stranger still was the sweat that beaded on her skin. The simple effort of magic that normally wouldn't have even been slightly taxing on her resource had left her feeling drained. Something was not right.

‘Held here within are the documentation and findings of Gallus Mal Momus, in relation to the imperial jurisdiction of Emperor Solus to the discovery and vivisection of the voidsent inhabited subject.’

The words on the page were written on dirty parchment, paper once clean and white stained with deadened blood and time. Unlike many of the other novels in his collection, all within this section were relatively untouched, uncared for, but functional all the same. They would not crumble at a whim, but the dust still settled on some pages as the quiet Elezen took them from the shelves.

Notes that had once been in loose folders were now held in bindings for tomes, sorted a lifetime ago to be locked away with the key he’d given his guest. Now, it seemed as much a time as any to bring them into the light.

Silvaire had made sure that nothing of himself, no direct notes of who he had been, no face to his name, had been kept within these versions. The information of the shackles, of the voidsent’s mutation of the body from overflowing aether, and the scope of regneration were covered here - though just in part. Whole chunks were still taken out, missing pieces of the whole that would leave more questions than answers.

The rest was hidden just as the First Umbral Scroll had been.

But, it was something concrete compared to the hypothetical that all the rest of Eorzea played with.

At the back of the shelf, as the lord came back to the dark alcove, he found the box that he had originally thought to find. It was made of unassuming wood; nothing ornate about it, even the lock that kept it closed was opened by a simple key that rested atop it, caked with dust - within sat a single book. Just as the container, nothing interesting seemed to be on the cover. No lettering, no expensive binding. It was little more than an average man’s journal.

His fingers hesitated as they reached inside, clenching into a fist for a heartbeat before pulling it free.

It felt cold to the touch. Locked in the shadows as it was.

Unlike the others, this diary Silvaire didn’t skim. He already knew it word for word. But the experiences that had been penned would most likely be the most useful information she could find. If she trusted him enough to read it.

A tired sigh escaped him as he rubbed his eyes, the husk of his servant coming and going with the research materials save the journal he still held in his hands. It was almost night, it would only be another hour or more till the sun fell-

The soft cover of the book was slammed against the table as his fingers gripped tightly to the wood; the hand over his face just as unflinching around his mouth as that ache came full force back to his shivering jaw.

He could feel it. The well of her spirit. Even from this distance, that pulse of power was unmistakable- dripping with aether he’d had a momentary taste of. Now it haunted his pallet, haunted him.

Just as soon as it started it was gone, and the creature felt himself relax the leash he’d snapped taut. The desire to go to the source of that sweet meal was tantalizing, it spoke not to the man who had been searching the study, but to the voidsent within that wanted nothing more than to repeat the horrors that were cataloged in the diary he held.

For a moment, Silvaire let himself focus, his palm on parted lips as he took a shaky breath-

Cyra’s second attempt was more forceful than the first, earning snapping teeth to dig into the crook of his hand on that instinctual dream to bite. He didn’t feel the pain as his own empty blood seeped over his knuckles. Hunching over to brace himself on the table the swear in his lungs was low, quiet, unheard in the silence of his halls.

She stopped again. The wound healed the moment he let his hand fall to the table. His eyes dark for only a moment before the man took a steadying breath.

He needed to leave. Sunset or no.

What about his glasses? They remained upstairs. Could the driver be trusted to find them? Maybe.

Maybe not.

Slitted gold looked to diary in his clean hand and the hollow lord straightened, pulling a cloth from the inside of his jacket to wipe his mistakes away, staining the white with all the more red of the day, and after making himself hopefully presentable, Silvaire ran his fingers through his hair to brush it back and once again, took a deep breath to push away those thoughts that lingered.

Just a moment of her time. Just to tell her. She mustn’t think he displeased with her. No.

For the contract.

Heading upstairs was quick but unhurried, the journal in his loose grip as he came to the room that had once been his own; it was here he saw her as the door to the bathroom opened and he realized she’d been attempting to heal her wounds. It made sense. She wasn’t aware of what she had been doing to him.

It was an awkward moment for a few heartbeats and he could see the (fear?) apology in those starlit blues, and he raised that once injured hand on habit to brush it away. His smile gentle as he placed the journal atop the other novels his servant had brought up for her.

“Before it’s asked, I’m okay. No damage was done… And I owe you an apology for saying what I did.” His nails tapped against the old leathered surface of the diary. “I overstepped and I shouldn’t have.”

It wasn’t a lie, and as he moved to find the tinted glasses he had left - knocked to the floor in their short term conflict - he turned back to her as he felt the comfort of the dark once again over sensitive eyes.

“How…I mean, Are you feeling any better after some rest?”

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

"I also owe you an apology. Insults or not, you did not deserve that outburst of mine. I was not myself, I think we both know and recognize that." In truth, Cyra was ashamed that she hadn't kept her emotions reined in. Her ears angled back, and her tail curled sheepishly behind her. She couldn't force herself to display anything specific, and it was better to be truthful at this point. He probably had seen things she hadn't intended to share. She was well aware of the power her Echo held. It was worse when she couldn't keep herself in check. She turned her head to the side, finding it even harder to keep her eyes trained on him like she knew she should. You are far too trusting with a stranger... "I am fine." She flicked an ear. It was a lie.

‘Your words were quite harsh’ It struck him a bit harder than he thought, but the moment passed just as quickly, whatever pang in his chest forgotten in a blink as the woman before him continued. Her posture told volumes of the way her own emotions spun through her admittances.

Tight arms, tail tucked, ears low. A sheepish demenor if any, and for the first time since he’d met the young woman, Silvaire felt like they were finally being honest.

Even if he wasn’t. Not really.

She was so small as she looked away from him, those bright eyes lidded and downcast as she lied - breaking that small streak of openness they’d started - and he didn’t push her on it. He’d already done much and more to break her comfort. From the way she held her fingers (the ones that looked scrubbed clean after stabbing him no doubt) the remorse was palpable across her fur.

He could see she’d wasted no time in changing into her more comfortable attire, the obviousness of how discontent her safety felt in the home of a stranger a stark reminder to the lord as he… he wasn’t quite used to it. He’d had guests in the past, and more often then not they’d taken to his attentions quick - always with some greed in mind for monetary or physical.

Those were the Contracts he was used too.

Ever on Cyra seemed to defy his understanding of people. Her history was an open book to him - even without the unknown affliction that gave him a front seat view to that agony - he knew more about her than he did any other soul who he’d taken an interest in. He’d even tasted her aether, had it forced on him without a trade in turn. No one did that.

Mortals always wanted something in payment.

“That’s… That is well.” The beast didn’t understand why he sounded like that as he watched her from dark lenses, only for a moment until his eyes too turned away from the way her greyed skin called to him, the swallow of her throat audible to his overly attentive senses at the moment - distracting himself with the books he’d brought.

Tapping against the covers for a second Silvaire fell into habit to hold his wrists behind his back as he took a step away from the collection, as if giving her room to approach - as if for each step she took he would give that distance in turn.

“The stairs may still be too much while you’re recovering from… that, so I’ve taken the liberty this afternoon to collect what I can for you.” He cleared his throat as if to change his words and nodded towards them, offering a tempered tone of warning, knowing her history as he now did;

“While these are the closest to your current… situation, I will say that some of them are… First hand accounts from Garlemald.”

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

Between the violent evil she had unleashed upon herself, and the overwhelming torture it provided, she could not hold it back any longer. Her claws were gentle as they gripped the cloth of the blanket. She wouldn't admit it, nor would she truly react to it the way she would have liked, but the wounded child within her wanted to reach out for comfort. Physical touch was a forbidden sensation, but oh the relief it would have given her if it didn't trigger involuntary fury. No matter how much she wanted it, she could not- would not reach out for it. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry...." She cried as she lowered her gaze, softly closing her eyes as the burden of emotion mixed with the pain of her injuries. She had relaxed most of her limbs, but still kept herself curled up against the firmness of the bed behind her. Hanging her head, her fresh horns nearly touching the blood-soaked leather that covered her knees. She just wanted to disappear.

Her cowed apologies dimmed the smile, unspoken sorrow slipping through despite the clawing demands of that comfortable apathy; Recognition, not pity. Empathy coiling in his chest ached as every part of his own instincts of preservation begged to leave. To let her wallow in this self-made hell, each second he watched the way her body sagged with that weight. It was almost palpable, the way the pain and the grief, the self-hatred, and the guilt hung thick in the air around her. The weight of her sins and her burdens. And he couldn't bear to see it, couldn't stand it. A stained mirror of violence, of isolation. Of a lifetime wrought in iron. Silvaire’s visage began to slip back to that impassive defense as he tried to keep his emotions in check, his own body wanting to run. But his buried heart screamed louder. His fingers twitched against the cold tile as he fought with himself. To stay or to leave. It would be so easy to simply get up and allow this frail little creature to come to her own in time, but then he'd never know. It was a stipulation of the Contract. Of course. And then what? Would he be here to calm the torment each time?

To keep his Contract as his alone? It was the instinct deep within that forced him to move. That made him lean forward - that entombed whisper of what he would have needed if someone had been there - a single hand reaching out to gently touch her arm, the contact so soft he barely felt it, and yet so electric he flinched away in an instant. The moment his hand made contact with her, the shock and the sudden realization of what had happened came like a wave. His breath caught in his throat, and those gilded eyes widened slightly, and even through the thick fabric of her sleeve, her skin felt so warm. He could feel the way she shivered under his touch, her muscles tightening. The smell of her blood was overwhelming, and it made him recoil his hand as quickly as it had touched her. His mind was reeling, and for a split second, his expression was that of a man who was pained. A man who had just witnessed a terrible crime, his cold heart hammering so loud in his ears that the world felt so far away.

Even if his touch was as soft as a feather, it was still a physical interaction. It was such a foreign feeling. A forgotten one. A terror all in itself. It was only a moment and he could feel the tremor in the small woman - he couldn’t recognize it as a positive or negative - but his silence was thick as the Elezen moved away, looking to the way the ichor soaked into his fingertips. The faint scent of that metallic stain in the air as it seeped into the wound threatened that temporary kindness. Silvaire's heart clenched painfully as a deep, dark part of his mind hissed in disgust. A hand still trembling faintly as it lingered in the air before falling to his lap. He shook his head as he tried to steady himself, a shuddering breath escaping him as he closed his eyes.

She didn’t need his help. The man needed to understand that. To hold her to the agreement. A few seconds passed before he finally spoke to the unquestioned, a voice so quiet and so distant. A tone as soft as velvet - as if he didn’t realize he was speaking aloud. "I know it hurts, more than you could imagine." Silvaire took a deep breath before he stood to give distance, trying to calm the storm brewing within him, and the tempest raging within her. The voidsent felt the leash of his control tightening again as he stepped away. As if her very presence reminded him of a life buried. Dark nails clenched tightly into a stained palm, the blood drying to his hand as he turned away from her. His face once more blank and cold, voice a quiet tempo as his words came slowly. "Let’s... get you cleaned." He stepped towards the room’s adjoining bathroom before turning to look at her, watching for a moment how small she looked, a speck of marred blue in the midst a sea of poppies, the words of the forgotten drifting to his mind;

We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie-

The thought was pushed down as idle fingers tapped against the stained warmth that covered his clothes, speaking again into the blanketed quiet that ever filled his domain. "Come, it will ease the pain of the wounds, and we can speak further about the situation then. The longer you wait, the longer you'll suffer." He paused, his expression softened a fraction, the hardness of his eyes lightening to a gentler hue. "I promise your comfort and privacy.”