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ohsohoney · 1 month ago

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When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Thirteen

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Thirteen!! I'm actually so excited to post this one. There's some angst, but like it's not all bad, this is actually probably one of my favourite updates to date. But this is just a forewarning! Lots of swearing too, to be expected really so.. Anyway, hope you enjoy it, have a feeling there's gonna be a lot of emotions over this one!

Thank you again for all the love this series has gotten, means so much and really does keep me writing:)

| Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

taglist: @thelastemzy @helloitsme1223

Masterlist

It was strained.

The entire house, its whole atmosphere. It was just incredibly heavy and strange.

It wasn’t hard to miss either, judging from the careful way Rosie had been watching the two of us since she’d first woken up this morning.

But last night hadn’t fared any better. Em had been weirdly distant; not meeting my eye, dancing around subjects, hardly speaking at all in actuality, and then he went as far as to avoid my touch— even as I’d handed him a fucking fork.

It was such a harsh reality check for me in truth, because suddenly, I felt like an intruder.

“El?” Rosie’s voice rang out, drawing me from my inner musings as well as the slice of toast I’d practically been burning a hole into.

“Hm?” I replied belatedly, dragging my eyes up and away from my plate to cast her a distant look, but Z was just wearing this perplexed sort of frown that had me blinking away any remaining haze as she dropped her spoon into her bowl of cereal. The splash sent a few drops of milk flying over the countertop.

“Called you like four times.” She sighed, that frown of hers still prominent enough for me to throw a small smile back in apology.

“Sorry, just– must be half asleep still.” I attempted to shake off the solemn feeling I’d been cast in, laughing faintly before I finally took a bite out of my own breakfast, hating the way the bread tasted like ash in my mouth.

She didn’t seem to take the bait though, not if the scrunch of her brow was any indication, or her next words, “Are you sure? ‘Cause last night–”

I didn’t know whether or not to be grateful for Marshall’s sudden appearance in that next moment because the girl swiftly cut herself off in favour of hurriedly spooning another load of cereal into her mouth.

Marshall whipped around the island without so much as a glance in my direction, opening up the fridge before he turned towards the coffee pot he had laid out but hadn’t used since my first day here. The kettle and the half-made mug of tea I’d set out for him either going unseen or just ignored. I was betting on the latter.

I opened my mouth to say something, if only to break the debilitating silence, when the man himself unknowingly cut me off. “You almost ready?” He questioned Z, who was still slurping up the remnants of her bowl.

The girl’s eyes darted towards him from over the porcelain brim of it before she dropped her arms to cast him a buoyant grin lined with, what could have only been, a milk moustache. I couldn’t help the fondness my smile gave way to, or how I reached out to wipe her upper lip with a nearby napkin.

Her expression softened at either the gesture or my laughter, I wasn't quite sure, but her bright eyes glanced back over to her Dad just as I withdrew my hand.

“Nearly, just my shoes.” Rosie told him easily enough, kicking her legs out beneath the table to better show him her shoeless feet. I saw Marshall roll his eyes out of the corner of my own eye and deigned to take a long sip of my brew if only to keep from flashing him the shared smile that threatened to break through. I didn’t think it would fair well right now, me trying to buddy up to him over his daughter's shameless antics.

“We got fifteen minutes ‘fore you’re late.” He replied to her as he all but drained his mug dry, the heady smell of coffee grinds polluted the kitchen's air. I bit the inside of my cheek when the familiar warning of scalding his mouth crawled its way out across my tongue, but I didn’t dare speak a word.

Rosie bobbed her head in a quick understanding, already jumping down from the barstool to run and grab the last of her things before she could set off for school, forgetting the dirtied bowl she had left on the counter.

I didn’t think much of my next movement, in truth, mostly looking for a reason to ignore the heavy cloud which had since settled over the shared space, as I picked up both the bowl, my plate too, to carry them both over to the bin and sink.

A sound had me glancing back over my shoulder instinctively once I’d turned on the taps though, surprised to find Marshall already looking in my direction, or rather the sinks, I supposed.

But maybe I was wrong about that, because my surprise jumped straight up to shock when I heard him speak, to me. “How many times I tell you, you ain’t gotta do that?” It didn’t sound much like the question it was meant to be, more of a grunt than anything else as his hard stare flickered up to meet mine.

It was instinct for me to frown, but as my forehead went to furrow I was quick to smooth it back out again and turn my back on him, knowing this conversation would be much easier if I made quick work of the dishes in the sink. “I don’t mind.” I muttered back, hands already covered in soap duds.

He didn’t deign to respond, just let the sound of the water fill the lengthy space that had been created between us so suddenly. My heart ached a little over it, in truth, as I wondered what I’d done so wrong to have fucked up the easy thing we had going on here.

Because look, it wasn’t as though I was new to quick snipes or heated conversations, or whatever the fuck this was. But it unsettled me enough to know that it was him that I was on the outs with. Marshall, he’d practically taken me in, done more than just house and feed me, but now he was just over it? Done with all the niceties because of an almost– what, kiss? If it had even been that at all.

But I didn’t, scratch that, I couldn’t linger on the thought because if I did, then I would be sure to start fucking throwing back words a lot more scathing than just ‘I don’t mind’.

I was broken from the way I was furiously scrubbing away at my plate with the scour when my personal space was suddenly invaded. I all but jumped out of my skin as my head shot over to the left to find Marshall now stood there, leaning over me in the tight corner which sat between the two adjoining counters, just so that he could drop his cup into the soapy basin.

His eyes met mine the second I looked up at him, mouth somewhat agape enough to have those icy blues of his dropping down to catch a quick look before they settled back on my own again. I went to swallow, confused and caught entirely off guard by the intrusion, but found I couldn’t. Which was good, in reality, seeing as I didn’t dare want to let onto the fact that he’d garnered anything more than surprise out of me.

“Seein’ as you don’t mind then.”

Marshall’s comment perplexed me further, before I caught wind of what he was really getting at with it. So it was in that next moment that I allowed my eyes to narrow, even as he brushed back against me slowly, almost languid in his retreat.

I huffed out a tiny, grim laugh, more air than anything, when I shoved the dish I’d been cleaning into his chest, flicking soap and water all over him. But it was missed only slightly by his moving form, catching his bicep instead and allowing a trail of water to drip down his bare forearm. “You won’t mind dryin’ then.” I shot back scathingly, clenching my teeth.

As much as my own action had surprised me, the drawl of my accent heightening in my anger gave way to the actual shock which lined beneath it, forcing me to turn back to the sink before Marshall could realise or actually comment on it.

I didn’t know what it was about what had transpired that kept him from jumping down my throat, but he kept quiet even as it took him a good second or two to grab the towel hanging by the draining rack and wipe at the sodden plate.

It was tense after that. Not a word was spoken, and so a shaky exhale left me the moment Rosie reentered the room, her shoes clicking against the kitchen tiles as she slung her school bag over a single shoulder.

If Marshall heard the reaction, he gave no indication, but was quick in the way he jumped back from the counter to meet her. “Let’s go.” He all but demanded after he’d chucked the towel down onto the side so that he could round the island.

I didn’t have to look back to hear the confusion Rosie obviously felt, “Is El not coming?”

Opening my mouth to answer her, my chest pinched when Marshall did so for me instead, “Not today. Come on, you gone be late.”

It was with that which he withdrew from the room with, leaving me blinking and Rosie gaping at his retreating figure. I wondered then where the hell it had all gone wrong.

When Rosie casted her eyes back to me, my hands were still hovering over the sink but I witnessed the way her usual smile had transformed into something more solemn, or perhaps just ruminative.

Being the adult, as well as the ‘bigger fucking person!’ I wanted to scream at his back. I forced my expression into something a whole lot sweeter than just the bewilderment that had plastered it a second before. I let go of a large breath and reached for the tea towel.

“I just got a new idea for a song, figured I’d write it down before I lost it, you know?” I attempted to reassure, brushing off how odd the entire situation must have seemed to her.

Because why was I covering for a forty-something year old man and his pissy demeanour? Well, one simple reason could be that it wasn’t Rosie’s fault that her Dad was being a massive prick at the moment, and that I for one wasn’t going to be shucking her with the bubbling irritation I felt for him. Something which I’d picked up from living in a house a whole lot worse than this, where you didn’t know whether a reply would earn you an outright laugh or something to tell your future therapist about.

Z was nothing if not perceptive though and so when she just hummed I was quickly taken back to my own childhood, to when some of my mum’s less shittier boyfriends had attempted to lie their way out of what was obviously happening between the two of them. My skin itched at the thought.

“You gonna be here when I get home?” She asked me before I could say anything at all, which broke my fucking heart, because Rosie was so quick to add to her question, if only to make it seem as though it had been something other that it was, “You know, ‘cause Dad’s talking to the school about what happened yesterday… So I just figured you might wanna hear about it when I got back.”

“Of course I do, Z.” I promised in one hasty reply, already moving to dry my hands before I could even really think about it. “Of course.” I repeated as I made my way over to her, smiling warmly when she met me halfway. “It’ll all be just fine, you hear me?” I murmured to her the second I let myself get swept up in one of her gentle hugs, “Your Dad will sort it all and I’ll be here waiting to hear about it the second you get home, okay?”

She was quiet for a long moment before she just whispered, “Swear it?”

My eyes shuttered closed and I buried a sad smile in the top of her head, already reaching out to lock my pinky with hers. “On my life.” I swore quietly, forcing myself to match the wry grin she wore when she pulled away to peer down at our interlocked fingers. Rosie giggled lightly, choosing to swing our arms back and forth.

I shook my hand in return, wobbling the pair of our limbs ever so slightly, before a slight cough gained our attention. I looked up whilst Z spun around on her heel to find Marshall stood waiting just outside of the doorway, a hazy shadow crossing over the bridge of his nose as he toyed with the set of keys he had in his hand.

His voice was all too soft when he spoke, eyes zeroed in on his daughter, “Time to go, bean.”

It took everything in me then to look away from him and over to the clock stationed on the far wall, letting Rosie’s hand slip from mine after I gave it a small squeeze. “He’s right.” I sighed lightly, “I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

She was already peering back up at me when I looked over and so I wasn’t too startled by the sudden embrace she wrapped me up in before she hastily made her way towards the front door.

The quiet which settled in after her wake forced my gaze to return to the man who had yet to follow, his eyes faltering between my own before he dipped his chin in a barely there nod, a gesture which spoke volumes as he turned to leave.

–

Messages Lottiebug 🐞 In school!! Sorryyyyy didn’t mean to ignore u Was out late and passed out At lunch now, promise to call later xxxxx Love u don’t miss me too much:))

I actually wanted to wring the kid’s neck. She was such a stress inducer that I was sure to head back home to her covered in hives come this point. I mean, where did she get off on making me worry like that? Especially after all that had gone down, all that she had kept from me. And with Rosie last night too, her entire situation having flooded my mind with memories of the past.

Messages To: Lottiebug 🐞 You’re the actual antichrist I swear Where the hell have you been Lotts?? I’ve been worried sick just waiting for a text or a call, did your phone just die? Or did your charger break again? I swear I’m flying home if you don’t call me the second you step out of those school gates

Or you know, maybe sooner if things with Marshall carried on.

I sighed at the burst of adrenaline which had rushed and drained from me in a too short moment, before I tossed my phone down onto the couch I’d taken to sprawling on, a plethora of notes and pages dotted all around me.

I figured it was at least one less thing to worry about now though, even if everything going on with Lottie was still a rather large issue at hand. I wanted to scream about it all actually. But currently, my biggest problem was this song. And maybe the man who was set to return in the time between now and the moment Rosie got out of school.

Because see, I had a small hunch that Marshall was probably going to avoid me for as long as he possibly could, which would end up being the very second his daughter danced back through that door.

The thought had me groaning again, unhappy with how everything was turning out, as well as the lyrics that I just couldn’t get to sound quite right. See, I hadn’t been outright lying to Z when I’d claimed that I had an idea for a new song. Being unable to sleep truly worked wonders on the psyche and could send your imaginative thoughts into a whole other realm.

But still, I was struggling to get it all to fall into place, the verse sounding much more like a bridge and the chorus still lacking something. Even so, it was promising. That much I could tell. Only thing was, I was stuck on whether or not it was going to end up on Marshall’s scrapheap or my next album.

It was what I was here for, wasn’t it? To write, to collaborate. Even after we’d gotten a little bit side tracked the last few days. But I just didn’t know how much he wanted from me, we hadn’t really spoken about it or hashed over all the gritty details. And yet, even after last night and this morning, I was still here trying to pull something together for him to come back and hear. Even if I was sure that he’d can it the second he did.

“You look like someone just shit on your chest.”

I startled at the voice, flailing a tad to get a better look at the figure which now loomed behind the sofa, but it seemed as though the scare had been enough to send all my hard work flying.

Three things happened in the next moment: I gaped, frowned, and then ultimately topped it all off with a rather hefty huff, turning back to grab at the pages I’d just been scrawling on with my tongue tucked between my teeth.

“Shat on my chest?” I answered back in the same dull monotone he’d just used, face screwing up slightly as I stretched to collect the last page that had slipped its way further down the sofa. “You know that expression intimately, or just guessing?”

A breathy snort sounded just as the page I’d been reaching for was snatched up before me. My gaze snapped upwards in narrowed slits to scowl at him, unimpressed by the action, before I held out a hand towards him, silently asking for it back.

Marshall took no note. Instead his eyes flitted over the red ink I’d been working on, reading it at a mile a minute. He handed it back without another word said and then rounded the sofa to fall into the seat beside me.

He had picked up a couple drinks whilst he’d been out, it seemed. Just a couple of coffee’s from what I could first tell and so I wrinkled my nose at the obnoxious smell they let off whilst I settled the final page back into the pile I’d since formed.

“Figured you’d be gone longer.” I couldn’t help but mention whilst he settled in, taking a slow deliberate sip from one of the brown paper cups before he slid the other across the coffee table in my direction, an action to which I raised a brow to.

He shrugged languidly as though nothing had occurred between us earlier, like he had the entire world at his feet actually, and then gathered up the pile, flicking through the pages without much care. “Dealt with that kid and his shitty-ass father, stopped off to get somethin’ to eat when Paul called, then came home.” He quipped promptly enough, leaning forward in his seat to rest his cup back down on the table and shuffle the first few pages between the hands he now had resting on his knees, “This new?”

I flicked my tongue over my front teeth, harsh enough to feel it drag and keep my head from imploading, but careful enough that it didn’t bleed– just yet, I allowed myself to add on. Because honestly, if I had to refrain myself much more than I currently was it sure was going to.

“Yes.” I quipped shortly, picking up my phone to slide through the brief voice notes I’d made the previous night in bed and then again when I’d stepped out of the shower this morning. “It was just something I kept on replaying, a little melody.” I explained if only so that I wouldn’t allow myself the space to start pestering him with questions and his sudden switch up, because what was with that? “Figured I’d just get it down whether it was good or not.”

He grunted out a hum.

I gritted my teeth.

“What happened at the school then?” I asked in a mutter, feigning nonchalance even though my eyes were already trained on him reading my words and the fact that I was now dying to know what he’d been on about when referencing this kid’s ‘shitty-ass father’.

His eyes were slow in the way they sloped over to me, my own darting back down to my phone if only so that I could pretend to meet his stare. He looked away again a second later, rolling a single shoulder. “Some teacher caught the shove yesterday, principle was already waitin’ for me when I pulled up.”

Surprised, I blinked. “What, he dragged both you and the kid’s dad in?”

“She. Misogyny has no place in the modern world, Elia.” Marshall corrected all too easily with that curt smile of his that he was so used to using. Typically it would have had me chuckling, but now it just pissed me off further, especially with the use of my full name.

Instead of reacting though, something I supposed he was aiming for there, I rolled my eyes. “She, what the fuck ever. What happened?”

Marshall leaned back in his seat with a quiet huff, “Guy got what was comin’ to him, fuckin’ wrung him and his kid out. Bitch figured he could say a bunch of shit about me and my daughter and I’d just let him?” He blew out a small titter then, though his evident smile was grim, “Bastard’s jus’ lucky I didn’t throw him through one of them windows. Could pay someone more than what he earns in a year to chop his fuckin’ hands off for me.”

I didn’t know how to take his words, all I knew was that a strange emotion had settled over me upon hearing them, almost uncurling the coil that my shoulders had wound themselves into.

Still, I licked at my lower lip and reached out to take the other cup he’d pushed down onto the table, pleasantly surprised by the lack of coffee it offered. Infact, the sweet taste of chocolate started to chip away at the icy irritation that had been brewing since early this morning.

“So, no lawsuits?” I murmured over the brim, pulling up a leg to get more comfortable on the sofa, seeing as my little makeshift workspace had now been overtaken.

Marshall’s eyes caught on me in that next moment and, stupidly, I wasn’t put off by the way they were so clearly examining me. The grit of his jaw softened after a minute and so I figured he’d found whatever it was he was searching so intently for. “A fine for parkin’ in a no-stop zone. But nah, no lawsuits this time ‘round.”

One corner of my mouth ticked upwards impulsively, though I was quick to smother it behind the paper cup, feigning a sigh instead, “And here I thought I’d get to witness a real court in session.”

Em didn’t hide his own smile at my words, his eyes gleaming in a way that gave more away than he realised. You see me, they said.

I supposed I did.

–

Working on music had always been a way for me to channel or process my emotions and thoughts, whether it was when writing or just messing around. It was possibly the reason as to why I was constantly in a bubble of it, when working, when cooking, driving, when I showered or got ready for bed. It was just always there, a constant companion in a way.

Em seemed to be torn from the same cloth. In the days I’d spent with him and Rosie, I’d gotten to understand that in a whole new way, he played music almost as much as I did, even if it was barely audible, I could still see the way it settled him in the drum of his hand or the tapping of his foot. I guessed it was why we worked so well together, just in the studio of course.

Somehow we managed to leave whatever resentment and odd feelings we’d been experiencing at the door to the downstairs studio when we’d moved from the living room to get a start on writing again. The song I’d been working on earlier had been pushed to the side so that Marshall could show me the few verses and ideas he’d had for the song we’d been messing with previously, the same one he’d called Dre and practically fawned over.

“I figure it’ll open the album.” He explained from where he’d wheeled his way over to the sound deck, scribbling over the top of it with the pen he kept chewing on subconsciously. “Set the tone, then we can just work around it.”

I hummed noncommittally, rereading the chorus I’d jotted down and since toyed with. “Could have a big voice on it,” I suggested to him, “Like, it sort of feels like a symphony in the way it builds, I reckon a few people could be jumping over one another for a chance at it.”

When I was met by an immediate silence, the scratch of his pen having paused, the rustle of his papers too. I dragged my eyes up and away from my own page to cast him a sparing glance, but was evidently surprised to find him already watching me. Rather intensely.

“What?” I queried, dropping my hand away from where I’d been rolling my lower lip between my fingertips.

He levelled me with a blank look, “You’re fuckin’ stupid if you reckon I’ma ask anyone but you to sing on this.”

My brow furrowed, before I raised my hand in a placating gesture. “It was just a suggestion– a good one too. Song won’t get as much recognition if I’m on it.”

That blank look shifted so quickly that I could barely even blink before it morphed into something which visibly portrayed his inner irritation. “You think I give a fuck about shit like that? I care about how it sounds, not how much it can make.”

Rolling my eyes, I just shook my head and looked back down at the marked margain, not entertaining him with a reaction. I knew I was right in my words and hadn’t meant anything by it, he could take it how he liked for all I cared.

He didn’t appear to enjoy that though, seeing as he dropped the pen down onto the deck with a clatter to push himself to his feet and walk closer to the couch I was still perched on. “I mean that shit. What, you think I was jus’ gone push you aside? You think that little of me? Last I checked, this was your fuckin’ song.”

His voice was littered with misplaced exasperation and the way he chose to tower over me, even if he was still stood a foot and a half away, showed it too. He was looking for a fight, had been waiting for it, gearing up. I realised then, rather belatedly, that he wasn’t too good at holding onto his emotions. Sure, he could wait and bite his tongue when he chose to, but those feelings he had only seemed to bubble further the longer he held them in, as though they were stewing in the acid of his stomach, waiting to burn through.

I could really see it now. He was antsy, overassessing, overthinking this entire situation. I could almost smell the unease he’d been simmering in, and I knew it was all down to what had transpired the night before. Only now, he had a real excuse to bite back at me. Rosie wasn’t around to hear or interrupt, and me? I was done being impassive.

“Yeah, Em. Of course,” I drawled with little to no care as to how I was practically scoffing at his words, “I think you’re an egotistical prick who just wants to steal my work, wasn’t as though I was the one to suggest getting someone else on it or anything.”

He didn’t take too kindly to the sarcasm.

“You’re awful fuckin’ mouthy for someone who claims they a nobody, you know that?” He sniped back with enough heat to have my back immediately straightening, “All high and mighty, that it? Like you can do no fuckin’ wrong.”

My mouth fell open because– what?

“Just waltz in here,” He continued on in his tirade, “Into my goddamn life and jus’ throw your opinions out, then expect me to lap it all up. Well I ain’t your fuckin’ lapdog and I’m sick of listenin’ to you tell me what to do and how to do it.” He shot out, casting me away with a gesture of his hand which seemed so pointless, what with the way his unblinking gaze was still hooked on me.

“Me?” I bristled, my voice high in the face of his outright irony as I stared up at him. “You brought me here! You! You were the one to call me, Marshall. You were the one to ask me to collaborate. To come stay with you here. To invite me into your fucking goddamn life!” I mimicked callowly, “So don’t go throwing that shit back in my face just ‘cause it's blown up in yours now.”

“The fuck’s that meant to mean?” Marshall seethed, ridgid in his stance as I forced myself to my feet too, done with sitting below a man so full of anger.

I laughed bitterly and shook my head at him. “I don’t know what the fuck last night was, but since it happened you’ve been acting like a proper dick about it. An even bigger one than I’d been expecting, too.” I told him plainly, pointing towards his chest as I tried to bite back my gall smile, “And everyone else might be fine soothing your ego and apologising to appease whatever fucking delusions you’ve conjured up in that thick head of yours, but I’m not gonna let a grown man mess with my head and make out like I’ve done something wrong or acted inappropriately. ‘Cause look, I’m sorry if I offended your sensibilities, but again, you’re old enough to fuckin’ be able to work through your own feelings. I can’t be expected to read your mind!”

My chest was heaving with all the anger that fueled my words and I only realised a second too late just how close we’d grown in the short space that sat between his heated question and my reply.

I glanced up into his eyes, that familiar blue gone, now swimming in dark hues. They flickered between my own and for a split second, I wondered what he saw. He was breathing just as harshly as I was, lit by the intense conclusion we’d been pulled into.

It was make or break, I figured.

But then he met me halfway and suddenly I was drowning in him. His hands in my hair, tugging, my fingers digging into his sides. It was unlike the night before, where his breath had been teasing, ghosting over my skin in baited wait. His words soft and genuine. Now it was just sparks flying off– only not in that shitty Disney magic sort of way, but instead it felt like steel being forged in fire.

I couldn’t concentrate on the way he was biting at me, teeth clashing as he forced me to expose my neck, me responding in the only way I knew how, dragging his lip between my incisors and pulling. Tugging. Hoping it hurt.

He walked us backwards, feet encasing mine, drawing me up against the nearest wall. My fingers dug in harder, feeling the muscle of his torso jump beneath me. He knocked my head back and we both heard the collision it made with the concrete there but neither of us seemed to care. The sting was enough for me to sink my nails into the skin of his neck and he retaliated by dropping his mouth to my jaw, leaving me gasping at the ceiling that sat above us, pulling him closer even as his own hands started to explore.

“Bastard.” I blew out, voice hitching when his tongue circled around my pulse point.

He answered me by nipping at the skin there, not enough to bruise but to mark, dragging his mouth lower and lower, tugging at the hem of my top until he bit harshly into the collarbone he’d exposed. I choked on my next breath, clawing at his nape until he soothed the sting with a featherlight kiss.

I dragged his face back up to meet mine, his jaw in the palms of my hands as I knocked my nose against his, panting against his open mouth, not even questioning how I’d gotten this worked up by just his teasing. Because that was what this was, a game. The opener before the real show could begin. He seemed to know it too, smirking briefly at me before he slotted his mouth back over mine, dragging his thumb down my cheek to pool in the small dip there.

My hands fell too, they clung to whichever part of him they could find, but it wasn’t enough. It felt as though everything I’d been feeling, every emotion I’d experienced, not just over the past twelve hours, but during our phone calls, our texts, and the days I’d spent with him here, were pouring out of me. From crevasses that I didn't even know could exist until then.

He pushed and he shoved, greedy in the task of getting what he wanted, but I was just as bad. Just as eager. The moments over the past week where I’d lingered too long, looked too intently, were all making sense now. Silently, I hoped I left my own mark on him, something that was enough to have his mind lingering on me instead.

I wondered then if he’d known this had been coming. If all his irritation had just been pent up tension. If he’d been angered by the fact he’d given himself away last night.

But then he pulled away.

My eyelids fluttered.

His thumb dropped to swipe over my bottom lip. It settled there for a second, then two.

It withdrew, smeared in a sheer coat of spit. I watched on, jaw agape, as he lifted it up to meet his own mouth, wiping it clean in one swift suck all whilst he stared back at me, his eyes taunting. Mouth menacing.

My next breath escaped me in a silent shudder.

His eyes, dilated and glimmering, flickered between my own. Mirrored arousal looming over us like a thick fog, before he took another step back.

Away.

Retreating.

Only, was that what it was?

I watched, baited by his stance. By the devious look his gaze gave way to. The rest of his features were solemn almost, so blank that it was practically daunting. But his eyes…

They told a different story.

The studio was so quiet I doubted the thought that he couldn’t hear my heavy pants, or the way I swallowed around the lump in my throat. I waited, pondering over his next move, what he might say, before he tilted his head.

The motion caught me by surprise, ever slight as it was, before he spoke, “Times up.”

My face must have ploughed through a dozen different emotions in that brief pause, but confusion won out, head shooting to the right the second he decided to move, crossing the short distance which stood between him and the door.

“Z’s home.”

Ah.

Fuck.

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