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| Martha Behamfil & Evelyn Mora

| tw! none

The game had been long and tedious. Despite being a rescuer, Martha had to contain the hunter until all five ciphers were decoded. She didn't even get a break. Her legs were sore, tired from nearly three minutes of running and jumping over windows and pallets. Matthias's message told her that one of the gates had finally been opened. Despite that, she wasn't around.

Another message appeared: Evelyn was opening the second one. Martha jumped out of the church window and, without wasting a second, headed toward the blonde. But that was her biggest mistake. Percy, the hunter the team was fighting against, dashed towards her.

—Shit! —Martha cursed, breathless.

She quickly went to the gate and, without hesitation, fired her flare gun, hitting the man squarely and stunning him for a few moments. It took just a couple of seconds to finish opening the gate. Evelyn turned her face to look at Martha, but the coordinator quickly moved her arm as a signal for her to leave.

—Go! —and without a second thought Evelyn obeyed.

Martha sighed in relief after seeing the blonde escape. But the look Percy gave her made her swallow. One sword blow was enough to make her lose consciousness; the next thing Martha saw was the wooden ceiling of the infirmary, the lights blinding and disorienting her. She put a hand to her head in an attempt to stop the sharp pain. Martha probably had a bruise, and the next day, a huge bump. She let out a tired sigh. Her body ached and her legs were numb, still recovering from the previous game. She noticed the flare gun on the table, its ammunition reloaded. However, the sound of the door creaking open caught her attention.

Martha composed herself on the stretcher as she made out Evelyn's figure. Martha wasn't surprised she was there, but it was strange. She remembered when Evelyn had mentioned her hatred of pharmacy alcohol and wet gauze. Her heels clicked across the parquet floor until the blonde was standing in front of her.

—I came to see how you were after the game, and well... to thank you for saving me.

—Don't even mention it— the younger woman muttered, her gaze fixed on the floor—, you deserved to escape.

—What? No way! You kept that big guy busy throughout the game and secured us a victory. —Evelyn settled herself on the stretcher, shoulders brushing—. I want to make it up to you.

—Huh? No need, really, I was just doing my job… —Evelyn stopped her, offering Martha one of her poker cards. But this time a lipstick mark was visible on it.

—We'll have dinner tomorrow. I'll reserve the garden for us. —She leaned her face closer to plant a kiss on Martha's cheek; Evelyn stood up and walked toward the door with that characteristic sway of her hips—. Take tonight to rest. See you tomorrow, sweetheart!

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Mr. Inference & Roland of Ness

tw! slightly suggestive?? grumpyxflirty

Ronald had lost count of how many cigarettes the detective had smoked. Fifteen? Twenty, maybe? Ever since he'd known him, Inference'd always had this obsession with smoking while interrogating. The gloved hands took another cigar, holding the cylinder between both fingers and lighting it with the grace of an experienced smoker. He took a drag and, after savoring the bitterness, he let it out, an air of mystery surrounding him. And damn, how hot he was.

Ronald shifted in his seat for the third time that minute; the detective's silence was chilling. But oh, he loved it. The blue pearls reviewed the notepad once more. Some words were illegible to the average person. But to Inference, it was something else. Key clues for each case. All of them were solved. But this one was more difficult.

—So —Naib's gaze lifted to look at the redhead, an indecipherable expression—, you don’t know what happened to Lady Thirteen?

—Oh, Mr Inference, you are the third person that asked me this today —Norton leaned back until his back was completely comfortable against the back of the sofa—. Oh, these furniture are really comfortable, where did you buy them, Naib?

—Mr. Inference for you, Sir Campbell —Naib interrupted with a sharp voice, as if he was judging the performer's every word and thought—. And what was your answer for those questions? Because I assume you’ve given the same version.

—And I thought you had me for a fool! You flatter me, 'Mr. Inference', however… —Norton’s voice shifted to a more, obscure, playful tone—, I think the tables have turned —Under the accusing gaze of the brown-haired man, Roland continued—. I saw your… graceful presence in last night's performance. Do you think that by changing your clothes you would go unnoticed?

After so much time, after so many years, Naib didn't know what to say. He didn't say a word. Even his gaze, full of embarrassment, remained fixed on the floor. And Norton's smile couldn't have been more proud as he noticed that lovely blush on his tanned cheeks.

Naib gulped as he heard the sound of the sofa fabric shifting after the weight loss. Every footstep that made the wood creak added tension to the scene, especially for him. And, for a few seconds, the Nepalese swore his breath had stopped. Feeling the man's hands on his shoulders made his back stiffen. A strange electric current running through his body for the first time in his life. Or at least, the one Naib only felt when Roland was nearby. One of the redhead's hands moved down to his waist, caressing part of his back with the thumb. Damn those big hands. The other went up from his shoulder to his jaw, holding it to make both faces match.

—For ethical reasons, no more could be shown in the performance, but… —Without any thought in mind, Naib bit Norton's thumb when he placed it between his lips—, I can make a private performance just for you… what do you say, Mr. Inference?